


Drunk Minds Speak Sober Hearts

by m4x_87



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, acknowledgment of past potential for Len/Mick, and then later, because bivolo, because duh, not quite canon compliant, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-01 18:32:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12710556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m4x_87/pseuds/m4x_87
Summary: Barry got whammied by Bivolo again, but he isn't angry at all.Leonard is confused, but ultimately cool with it.Cisco didn't need to be involved with this, guys.





	1. Chapter 1

 

“It should be fine as long as no one takes off the blindfold who isn’t wearing the goggles provided to the CCPD by Mr. Ramon,” Barry told Eddie, who nodded, holding out his hand.

“Thanks, Flash. We remember,” he said, smirking. Barry tried not to smirk back, amused by the show of unfamiliarity that they were putting on for the detectives nearby.

“No problem. See you around,” Flash said, before zipping away.

It hadn’t been a difficult fight.

Bivolo had done what he’d always done, which was incite other people into a frenzied rage to distract them from stopping him. Once Barry had gone around and flashed Cisco’s anti-Raider flashlight in everyone’s eyes, Bivolo had been easy to stop. There’d been one tight spot where someone had thrown out an arm he wasn’t expecting and hit him in the face, but honestly, it hadn’t taken him that long to realize that his goggles had been dislodged. He found them and reaffixed them and he hadn’t been whammied, so it was all good. He was more worried about the arm of the guy who hit him. It had to have been like hitting a brick wall that was in motion.

The guy would be fine, but his arm was going to be in a cast for weeks.

“Alright, Cisco, what else you got for me?” he asked.

“Hold up, Barry, let’s do a sitrep here. That was Bivolo you just tangled with,” Cisco replied, and Barry snorted, which made his friend and partner in crime-fighting squawk. “Don’t _snort_ , I remember what happened the first time you faced off against this guy. Now be honest. Did you see his eyes flash?” Cisco asked. Barry sighed.

“Course I did. That’s what he does. But I was wearing my goggles the whole time. Will you relax?” he laughed. Cisco conceded with that cute grumble of his.

“You’ve got a robbery on 49th street,” he reported. “Nothing fancy, guys with guns sounds like.”

“On it,” Barry said with a grin.

**

Two felonies and a petty theft later, Barry turned in his suit and flashed back to his apartment, tired but restless. He made himself two BLTs with too much bacon and a fried egg, washing it down with a protein shake that might last him to the morning. He washed his dishes and then went to take a shower to wash off stray plaster and grime from the streets. It was disgusting how much grease and grime built up at superspeed.

He turned the water as hot as he could stand and let it burn over him, turning his skin pink as he washed up and let his restless mind wander.

It’d been a busy week.

Mardon and Baez had tried to rob a diamond exchange.

Rathaway had been caught trying to rig a lottery.

Lisa and Mick had hit a bank, an art gallery, and a jewelry store and started several small fires.

Now Bivolo, and his obsession with his rainbow theme trying to steal an art instillation someone had made. A color sphere.

It’d been a week full of Rogues, really.

Well…

Barry frowned, hand slowing in the act of working shampoo into his hair.

Most of the Rogues, anyway.

He hadn’t seen Captain Cold all week.

Or the week previous.

Barry frowned a little more.

Or the week prior to that.

He’d be concerned if he had any right to be. Or if Captain Cold’s absence didn’t mean that Central City’s money wasn’t that much safer. Or if he hadn’t been assured by the various taunts of the other Rogues that Captain Cold was biding his time for a heist that would blow the socks off Central City’s Finest.

He should probably be concerned about how readily they had offered up assurances that Cold was fine to the Flash – his nemesis. He should _probably_ be concerned that he was _concerned_. He shook his head and then rinsed away the soap from his hair.

He was trying to get Cold to give up crime and come to Team Flash, where he belonged.

That’s all.

There was no other reason for him to be concerned.

That would be ridiculous.

He sighed, ducking his head under the spray of hot water as he recalled his prison chats with Le—with Captain Cold. The surface disdain in those ice blue eyes hiding self-doubt. The perpetual smirk of those full lips a defense mechanism against the pain of the cage his life had made for him. A cage he was resigned to.

Not Barry.

Somehow, he would get Leonard to see that he could leave the past behind him and make his own life better. Make him see that he didn’t have to do it alone; that Barry would be there for him if he needed.

He gave a bitter laugh at his own thoughts and shook his head.

“Jeez, Barry, if you like him so much, why don’t you _marry_ him,” he muttered, grateful for the hot water that hid his blush with already reddened skin. He dismissed the whole train of thought.

Or tried to, as he worked the conditioner into his hair.

He couldn’t quite shake Leonard from his mind, though. The way he moved. The way he planned. His smirk. His calculating, assessing gaze.

_“What exactly do you want from me, Barry?”_

The sudden memory sent an unexpected shock through Barry, and his breath hitched in his chest. He put a hand there, taking a minute to breathe, but the shock lingered, up though his shoulders before settling low in his gut. Barry shuddered, swallowing hard.

What did he want?

God, he couldn’t even say.

Everyone looked at Barry like he was some beacon of everything that was pure and just and good in the world, but Barry could never tell them how the fights he had with Captain Cold were better than eighty percent of the dates he’d gone on lately. How their banter felt too much like flirting – especially from his end. That this drive to lure Leonard away from a life of crime was more than a little in the interest of enabling him to be near the man in a way the others could approve of. Because then it wouldn’t be so horrifying to his friends if they ever found out just how bad he had it for Captain Cold.

“ _What exactly do you want from me, Barry?”_

Everything.

Jesus, _everything_.

 

**

 

Barry was having a really weird day.

It didn’t _start_ weird, as far as he was aware.

He woke up, took care of his morning...routines...

Went to work...

That was pretty much when everything started to fall apart.

He’d never had a problem working with anyone at the station before, but suddenly he was hyper aware of how attractive everyone was. How they smelled, how they walked, how their shirt colors brought out their eyes. He’d had more than one uncomfortable erection that he’d hid behind reports and bags, and his own jacket. It was bizarre.

Then, after work, he zipped over to STAR labs, and was further confused by how easily distracted he got by Cisco’s genius machinations, and the self-satisfied smile he got whenever something he did went perfectly. How Caitlin’s lip gloss shimmered in the light. How Iris’ hair bounced when she walked.

The last one had him leaving the room to splash water on his face. What was his _deal?_ He hadn’t thought about Iris that way since...and she was with _Eddie!_

He shook his head and looked himself in the eye.

“Get a grip, Allen,” he hissed at himself, and took a few calming breaths.

“Hey, Barry, there you are,” Cisco said as he walked back into the main room. He blinked.

“What’s up?”

“Cold gun signature at a warehouse on the south side of the city. Looks like Cold’s vacation is over,” Cisco said, frowning.

Barry didn’t answer immediately, but that probably had something to do with the butterflies in his stomach or the way his heart was tangoing its way to arrhythmia.

“Can you get a more accurate location?” he asked, trying not to sound like any pimply teenager asking if the head cheerleader had talked about them, and if so, what did they say _exactly_?

“Working on it. Get going, I should have it by the time you get close,” Cisco assured him.

He ran.

It didn’t take long.

Cisco led him right to the warehouse where Captain Cold was using his gun for some nefarious crime, and Barry took his time scouting out the area before heading inside.

The warehouse held a bunch of shipping containers, among other things, and Barry found Snart almost immediately, navigating the maze of corridors in search of whatever it was that he’d come for.

The second Barry laid eyes on the thief, everything came off the rails.

“Len,” Barry said, causing the other man to whip around to face him, and _god,_ had he always felt that tease of electricity in his spine when he said Snart’s name?

“Flash,” Len greeted with that smirk – that confident, secretive smirk. Len always looked like he knew something you didn’t and he couldn’t wait for you to realize what it was.

Barry wanted to lick that smirk.

While he considered the taste of Leonard Snart’s signature smirk, Len raised his cold gun. Barry dodged around the beam of absolute cold as if it were nothing. Cisco’s suit was upgraded to guard against the worst of the damage, Len never aimed for vital parts of his body anymore, and he was a fast healer anyway. He zipped and zagged across the empty space and then swatted the cold gun out of Len’s hands before grabbing ahold of that ridiculously fluffy parka that Len always wore. Len grabbed Barry’s wrists in his strong, gloved hands, but Barry determinedly walked him backwards into the nearest, obstacle-free piece of wall, his eyes on the clench of Len’s jaw. Len grunted a little when his back hit the wall, but Barry was being gentle as he put Len where he wanted him, so he paid it no mind.

“Len,” he said again, feeling that fission of excitement as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Captain Cold’s shock-slackened lips.

 

**

 

Leonard Snart froze, blinking behind his goggles as The Flash pressed kiss after gentle kiss to his lips. He still had Flash by the wrists, but the Scarlet Speedster didn’t seem that keen on escaping Len’s grasp. The opposite appeared to be true, in fact, as the kisses became less gentle and more demanding.

Len moved his lips to meet the next kiss experimentally, exploring The Flash’s reaction to his playing along. After all, it seemed unlikely – didn’t seem like Team Flash’s style – but it might have been some off the wall new tactic to discourage criminal behavior. They couldn’t possibly know that it would backfire in Len’s case, but then, from the helpless moan that dragged out of Flash’s throat at his participation, and the way the kissing became more aggressive in response, Len surmised that this wasn’t at all a ploy.

The Flash – beacon of hope and goodness in Central City – was licking his way into Len’s mouth like it contained the secret to string theory.

Len’s grip on Barry’s wrists tightened a little, even as he angled his head to better receive more kisses.

Why though?

It wasn’t that Len minded – there were worse ways to spend an evening than letting The Flash explore his dental history – but it was...unexpected. If Barry were a more conniving soul, Len would think that Barry was trying to seduce him to the side of puppies and sunshine and thankless heartbreak. Except that Barry _wasn’t_ that devious and honestly expected that Len would come to the conclusion of his own heroism independently. So...Barry wasn’t trying to seduce him onto Team Flash; he was – apparently – _just_ trying to seduce him.

The thought sent a frankly unsurprising bolt of heat down his spine, which relaxed against the wall. He widened his stance to better accommodate the press of Barry’s lithe, runner’s body against his own, which Barry took immediate advantage of with a pleased little moan. Len’s hands slipped from Barry’s wrists to his waist to hold him closer as he took charge of the kiss, giving his own little hum of pleasure when Barry’s hands abandoned his lapel and wound around his shoulders instead.

It wasn’t as if he’d never entertained the thought of The Flash (of Barry – of _him_ and Barry) before. He wasn’t blind, and he was older, but he wasn’t _dead_. He’d seen Barry’s arms, knew that underneath that clever tri-polymer suit there was muscle that was good for more than just transporting Barry around the city at insane speeds. Had spent several quiet evenings post-planning thinking about what he might do if he ever got The Flash alone and at his mercy. He hummed a little into Barry’s mouth at the entertaining thought that he might be able to enact a few of those fantasies this very evening as he shifted one hand down to grab a handful of tri-polymer covered ass.

The noise Barry made as he broke the kiss – somewhere between a squeak and a whimper – _did_ things to Len, and he smirked as he watched the younger man bite his lip before dilated green eyes fluttered open, looking at Len—

—and flashing purple?

Len frowned.

That wasn’t normal. His gut was starting to sink, and the dark enthusiasm he had for the notion of The Flash giving himself up for his nemesis waned considerably.

He lifted his hands away from Barry, repositioning his goggles to his forehead to get a better look at Barry, who smiled radiantly at the sight of Len’s blue eyes. The smile stuttered a little into confusion as Len grabbed his face to get a better look into his eyes.

“Barry,” he started, disregarding the wave of irritation that scoured the rest of his arousal away when Barry’s eyes flashed purple again. He let go of Barry’s face and tilted his head, leveling his most unimpressed glare at the younger man. “You have a run in with Bivolo earlier?” he asked, and Barry blinked.

“What?” he took in Len’s expectantly arched eyebrow and considered the question. “Um, I guess? Yeah, yesterday. He’s already in police custody,” he said, shaking his head slightly with a shrug, as if he couldn’t see the connection between his earlier encounter with the Rainbow Raider and his current behavior.

Len crammed his bitter disappointment into a box and sighed.

“Oh, Barry,” he said, shaking his head. Then he put his fingers over the small disc on the right side of Barry’s cowl, where he knew a communicator was embedded. “Attention Team Flash,” he said, injecting as much of his usual snide superiority into his voice as possible. Barry looked torn between alarm that Snart was contacting his team directly, and still deeply aroused by Snart’s...everything, apparently. Len decided to do something awful to Bivolo. Not too awful, because Barry would moon at him and give him The Speech about his imaginary ‘goodness’, but something. “Captain Cold here, being deeply disappointed that you aren’t keeping a closer eye on your mascot, considering he’s gone and got himself whammied by the atrociously titled Rainbow Raider,” he said, trying his best not to react to the way that Barry was still pressed up against him, or the way that he turned his head and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of Len’s wrist.

Len couldn’t hear who replied with what – could only surmise as much by Barry’s sudden eye roll and the huff in his voice as he said, “Wha—Cisco, I’m _fine_. I’m not angry, I’m...” his eyes darted to Len, who arched an eyebrow at the unexpected attention. Barry smiled, wide and goofy. “I’m _cool_ ,” he said.

Len didn’t care that his snort was probably audible. He would deny _it_ and the smile that broke onto his face for 1.5 seconds until his dying day. He shook his head and schooled his expression, even as he drank in the wide grin that Barry gave in response to his reaction.

“Anger does not appear to be the problem,” he reported to the still open connection. He had to move his hand to keep it on the communicator when Barry leaned forward again, and Len’s grunt of surprise was somewhat muffled by Barry’s mouth. He let Barry kiss him for a moment – because he was a villain, and villains do what they want, and also because Barry’s mouth tasted of coffee and innocence – before tilting his head back and away. “Barry, I’m talking,” he chided mildly. Barry did not sound at all sincere about the apology that was mumbled into his neck, and Len shivered at the gust of hot breath against his skin. He cleared his throat. “His eyes flashed purple, not red,” he continued, breaking off to grit his teeth when Barry started to mouth at his neck. He tilted his head to give Barry more room. “Given the evidence, I would say that Bivolo’s purple leads to amorous behavior,” he said, taking stock of his situation. Barry was pressed snugly enough against him that he could feel _exactly_ how amorous Barry was feeling – as if the way he was attached to Len’s neck like a tick or the way his hands had wandered under Len’s parka weren’t equally important indicators. One was cupping his ass. He took a steadying breath. “But that’s just a guess,” he finished dryly, unable to hid the hitch in his voice when Barry’s hand squeezed.

Barry abandoned his neck momentarily to scowl, and his hand squeezed again.

“No. Seriously – guys, that’s not necessary,” he insisted, and Len shook his head.

“If whatever you just suggested has anything to do with coming to restore sanity to The Flash, it is absolutely necessary,” Len insisted, keeping his expression passive in the face of Barry’s look of betrayal and giving no indication to the way it made his guts twist.

“It’s really _not_ ,” Barry insisted.

“Ignore him. He’s delirious,” Snart said, before pulling his hand away from the communicator. He glanced around, eyeing a convenient nearby bench before looking at Barry. “Does that communicator turn off automatically?” He asked. Barry blinked, frowning slightly.

“Um, yeah, wh—”

It was Len’s turn to surprise Barry, surging forward into a scorching kiss as he yanked the cowl back from Barry’s face. Barry sucked in a breath but eagerly leaned into the kiss, hands on either side of Len’s face. With Barry sufficiently distracted, Len pushed forward off of the wall so that Barry had to backpedal in order to remain standing, hands shifting from Len’s face to his sturdy shoulders. Len used his momentum to mirror Barry’s move from earlier, walking him backwards all the way to the bench.

The back of Barry’s leg hit the bench, but the rest of him kept going, and he ended up sprawled on his back atop it, eyes wide but still incredibly dilated as he stared up at Len.

Len looked down at Barry, hands clenched to keep from shaking. His blood was pounding in his ears, and he was furious that Barry wasn’t in his right mind, because the _things he wanted to do…_ He let his eyes travel over Barry’s body, not bothering to hide it from the other man, who gaped at the open appreciation in Len’s face before biting his lip on a moan.

Len made a decision, acting on it before he could change his mind.

He straddled Barry on the bench, grabbing a fist full of the scarlet suit he wore and pulling him upright until they were face to face, reveling in the curse of surprise that Barry barely managed to bite back.

“Listen to me, Barry Allen. I am going to _ruin_ you,” he said, letting his voice drop into a register he used only for his most intimate of encounters. Barry’s eyes widened, and the flush of arousal in his cheeks returned in full force. Len shifted his hips in Barry’s lap and Barry let out a breathy utterance of surprise, planting his feet more firmly on the ground and grabbing for Leonard’s hip, which the thief generously allowed. “I am going to do things to you that you didn’t even know were possible. I’m going to leave you bruised and sore and wet and wrecked, and _begging_ for more,” he promised, drawing in a hissed breath when Barry’s hand squeezed at his hip. Barry was panting, and his whole body was trembling as Len spoke, which he found very gratifying. “Memories of your sexual devastation will consume your idle thoughts, driving you to so much distraction that you will come running back for even so much as a _taste_ of what I have to offer you,” he went on, watching Barry swallow hard between breaths and catching Barry’s hand by the wrist before it could slide towards the front of his pants. “And Barry,” he said, catching the speedster’s other hand too, despite his whining protest. “When this happens – and it _will_ happen – it will be because you came to me of your own free will, under no other influence than your own, and _begged me for it,_ ” he said, before swallowing Barry’s moan.

 

**

 

“Ohmigod, ohmigod,” Cisco muttered as he parked the van and fumbled out of the car. He had the anti-Bivolo flashlight and the tracker that would lead him straight to Barry, as well as – apparently – Captain Cold. He also had a baseball bat, but that was unlikely to do much good and was mostly there to make Cisco feel better. He kept up a steady stream of muttered oaths as he made his way into the warehouse that the tracker had led him to.

He froze at a sudden low noise, holding his breath and willing his heart not to pound so goddamn loudly, before taking a few quick steps forward and turning a corner, and—

“Oh my—oh my _god_ ,” he blurted, sharply averting his gaze from the sight of his best friend aggressively making out with Captain Cold. He stared straight ahead, making a face, but like the observer of a train wreck, his eyes were drawn inexorably back, mouth dropped open in horror and revulsion.

Twenty feet away on a bench, Captain Cold was sitting on Barry’s lap, and Barry was happily gnawing on the supervillain’s neck. Cold, on the other hand, was looking at Cisco.

First, he eyed the bat, giving a huff and arching an eyebrow, which – fuck him, okay? Cisco made a face at him and set the bat down on the ground before looking back at the two of them. He pulled the flashlight out of his belt and...

Just...

Stood there.

Super reluctant to get any closer to...that.

God, the _sounds_ Barry was making. How was Cisco ever supposed to look him in the face again? He made another face, looking at Cold, who narrowed his eyes impatiently and darted his eyes at Barry. Cisco winced and made a low noise of discomfort, but moved forward in the name of friendship and not getting murdered by Captain freaking Cold.

Cold let go of one of Barry’s wrists, immediately alerting Cisco to the fact that he’d been holding Barry’s wrists, and for half a second, Cisco was indignant on his friend’s behalf. Right up until Cold gave a strangled grunt, cheeks taking on a slightly ruddy hue as he said, “Barry. _Above_ the waist,” in a low, commanding voice that made Barry moan and Cisco want to be swallowed by the earth.

"C'mon, man," he exasperated under his breath. Cold looked at him again, gritting his teeth and glancing insistently at Barry, the now empty hand coming up to Barry’s head, fingers tangling in Barry’s hair. Cold arched an eyebrow at him, and Cisco shuddered but nodded, readying the flashlight.

Cold pulled Barry’s head back by the hair.

Barry let out the most ungodly sexual noise Cisco had ever heard.

That and Cold’s noise of speculation made Cisco curse.

Barry jolted and opened his eyes right as Cisco turned on the beam.

With a curse Barry jerked his head away, and Cold released him, getting up and moving back a little to the end of the bench while Barry fell on the floor. Cisco stood where he was, clutching the flashlight to his chest and glancing between Barry and Cold, who was standing with one foot perched on the bench, leaning on his knee and studying Barry. Cisco narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

Barry was holding his head, rubbing his eyes. Eventually he shook his head, blinking about twenty times before taking in his surroundings. And his company. He looked blankly at Cisco, who pressed his lips together to keep from adding to the mounting dread he could see in his friend’s eyes.

Also, holy shit, Barry looked _wrecked._ What had Cold been _doing_ to him?

Then Barry looked at Cold, whose face was utterly passive aside from the curious eyebrow he directed at Barry.

Barry whose mouth fell open.

Barry who turned roughly the shade of his suit.

Barry whose panic stricken ‘uhhhhm?’ rose steadily in volume and pitch as he staggered to his feet.

Barry who hesitated for half a second before speeding away with his customary trail of red and yellow light and rush of air.

Leaving Cisco alone.

In an abandoned warehouse.

With Captain Cold.

What the _hell_ , Barry?

Cisco turned to look at the winter-themed supervillain, who huffed a little at Barry’s exit and shook his head but didn’t seem surprised or at all disappointed, standing up straight and shoving his hands in his pockets before studying Cisco. Cisco leaned a little away from him, looking him over.

God _damn_ , he looked worse than Barry, lips swollen, the neck of his sweater stretched out of place to reveal a neck that looked like it’d been attacked by rabid _weasels_. Cisco tried to hold back his face. Couldn’t. Cold only huffed again and didn’t comment. (He also didn’t kill Cisco, so bonus).

“It took you twenty minutes to get here, Ramon. Did you get lost?” Cold asked, almost casually. Cisco shifted his grip on the flashlight as if that would protect him.

“Had to stop for gas,” he admitted awkwardly. Cold closed his eyes and shook his head, which rankled. “What the hell did you think you were doing, kissing Barry like that? You knew he was whammied,” he said, his opinion on the matter clear. Cold arched an eyebrow, and the smirk he wore constantly reappeared.

“Kissing distracted him from more...intimate pursuits,” the villain replied, and Cisco made a face at the image. Cold inclined his head, narrowing his eyes as his smirk settled more firmly on his face. “You’re welcome,” he added, before nodding at the flashlight. “Effective tech,” he commented. Cisco blinked at the compliment, looking down at the flashlight.

“I mean, yeah. We built it after that first run in with Bivolo when he made Barry super angry. I mean, we didn’t realize that right away, apparently it takes longer for Bivolo’s powers to affect Barry than the average person, but it still works the same, so— _hey_!” Cisco jumped and then reached for the flashlight that Cold had plucked from his hands. Cold held up a finger, warding off the young genius, who shrank back away from him before he could grit his teeth. “Dude, it’s red and yellow LEDs in a flashlight casing – you can _make your own_!” he insisted.

Captain Cold smiled smugly.

“So, can you, and you have more supplies,” he replied, before flipping the flashlight end over end, catching it, pocketing it, and walking away. Cisco set his jaw as Captain Cold took a moment to look around the space before walking over to a section of wall. Cisco quailed immediately when he stooped over and then stood up holding his cold gun. He took a moment briefly to check it over before looking back at Cisco, who flinched.

But instead of turning him into a Puerto Rican ice sculpture, Captain Cold just holstered his weapon, turned around, and walked away.

“Be seein’ you, Cisco,” he said.

“Not if I see you first!” Cisco snapped. Cold stopped. Cisco made a low noise of regret in his throat. Cold turned back around, and tilted his head.

“Really?” he asked, unimpressed. Cisco blushed.

“I don’t know, man, it just came out. Sorry to ruin your dramatic exit, please continue,” he said, gesturing to the door. Cold closed his eyes, shook his head again, and left. Cisco let himself take a breath.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Caitlin and Iris stood in the control room of STAR Labs and said nothing for a very long time.

“So, the communicator,” Iris started, and Caitlin winced, looking at the screen that showed the muted channel’s activity.

“Mmm, yeah,” she acknowledged, neither of them looking at each other.

“That was...invasive,” Iris said. Caitlin rolled her shoulders to dispel a shiver.

“Yes, I thought so, too,” she agreed, shaking her head. Iris nodded, scoffing.

“Passive microphone?” she asked. Caitlin sighed.

“Not exactly. The suit and the lab have connecting transmitters, like a walkie talkie, but you still have to activate either side and they both activate the same way; tap once to activate two-way communication, and then again to turn the channel off, but...” she winced. “Barry apparently thinks it’s a ‘hold to operate’ situation. Cisco frequently has to turn the comms in his suit off when he gets back to the lab, and we keep forgetting to tell him that it picks up everything he says when he leaves it on,” she replied, sighing. “As well as everything within about ten feet,” she added with a delicate blush. Iris scoffed.

“Sounds like Barry,” she offered. Caitlin’s commiserate face led them both back into silence as Iris considered everything she and Caitlin had heard after Cisco rushed out of the room. She clicked her teeth after a minute. “We should...not...tell Barry about this,” she said, narrowing her eyes speculatively. Caitlin scoffed.

“Not tell Barry we heard Captain Cold threaten to debauch him to the point of sexual dependency? That is not a conversation I am eager to have,” she replied. Iris hummed but said nothing in return and Caitlin finally looked at her. She had a look of deep concentration on her face and Caitlin frowned. “What is it?” she asked. Iris tilted her head.

“He called him ‘Len’,” she said, still looking at some undefined point in space. Caitlin’s brow furrowed.

“Um...yes, I suppose he did,” she replied.

“Sounded happy to do so,” Iris added. Caitlin scoffed.

“Well, _that_ was Bivolo,” she explained. Iris looked at her, arching an eyebrow.

“Not the first time he’s called him Len. Not the first time he sounded happy about it,” she pointed out. Caitlin frowned again.

“What are you getting at?” she asked. Iris studied her for a second.

“Do you record Barry?” she asked. Caitlin scoffed, making a face of affront that was way too exaggerated to be natural.

“What? _No!_  That would be...invasive. And unethical. And..rude,” she insisted. Iris arched both eyebrows at her and she deflated, folding like a cheap suit. “Don’t tell Barry. I promise it’s only so we can analyze his progress with his powers,” she said. Iris chuckled, shaking her head.

“I won’t tell him you record him if you don’t tell that I listened to the recordings,” she bargained. Caitlin blinked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“But you haven—” she started, before gaping at Iris’ innocently batted eyelashes. Caitlin face pinched uncomfortably, but she turned to the computer and started typing. Iris smiled.

In short order she had a thumb drive with every recording that Cisco and Caitlin had ever made of her best friend, and then Cisco was letting them know that he’d finally arrived at the warehouse.

 

**

 

Barry didn’t go back to STAR labs. He didn’t think he could look any of his friends in the eye after he...after Len...

He ran home, phased through the door, and locked himself in the bathroom.

His brain was a tangled ball of electrified fence, no thought surviving more than a moment or two, and nothing consistent about it except for an overwhelming sense of embarrassment and sporadic bursts of exhilaration.

He _kissed_ Captain Cold.

He kissed _Captain Cold_.

What the _fuck_?

 _He_ kissed Captain Cold.

Barry paced the short length of his small bathroom, dragging his fingers through his hair and maintaining a low keen of despair.

It didn’t help that his brain kept flashing back and reliving the event.

Pressed up against Len’s long, hard body.

The taste of his mouth.

The heat of his skin.

The sound of his _voice_.

Barry stopped, gripping the sides of his sink as he looked at himself in the mirror. He gaped.

He was a _wreck_.

His lips were swollen and bruised like he’d been punched in the mouth, and he had stubble burn from his jaw to his shoulder. His neck looked like raw hamburger. His earlobes were equally purpled.

He blushed to the roots of his hair and felt a surge of heat from the knowledge of how he got this way. Heat that quickly dissipated with the knowledge that it was Bivolo’s doing, and the second Len realized it, he’d put the brakes on. Barry shook his head and sighed, burying his face in his hands.

It wasn’t that he _wanted_ Len to take advantage of him. Or, well…no, he _did_ , just...If it hadn’t been for Bivolo. Barry wouldn’t... _Len_ wouldn’t...

Barry groaned, dropping his hands and leaning his head back to look at the ceiling before turning and banging it against the door.

This was so fucked up. How was he supposed to be able to look Len in the face ever again?

How was he supposed to look _Cisco_ in the face again? Or _Iris_ , or _Caitlin_?

Ugh, maybe he should just move to _Alaska_ so he’d never have to deal with it again.

“Dammit, Allen,” he whined, sagging against the door.

He took a moment to breathe and then left his bathroom, slouching disconsolately to his room. He ignored his grumbly stomach, stripped out of the Flash suit, and left it on the floor with barely a thought to how Cisco would be mad about mistreating it this way. He flopped face first onto his bed and indulged himself in a long, drawn out, dying whale noise that was muffled by his mattress.

 _I kissed Len._ He ignored the prickle of heat that chased over his skin at the thought, and the way he was definitely blushing thinking about it. _Why?_ _I mean, I know_ why _, but **why**?_

He sighed again, and the grumble of his stomach prompted him to reach into the drawer of his bedside table for the protein bar and the jumbo bag of jerky that was almost gone. He ate in silence and threw the wrappers at the trashcan like a sulky, emo child, watching them flutter to the floor without even _trying_ to get near the can. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling

The stubble burn was already fading, he could feel it.

The bruises would be gone by the time he woke up, probably. He reached up to touch one and closed his eyes at the delightful shiver that ran through him at the contact. He raised his arm and smiled a little at the five, slightly ovoid bruises he could see on his forearm where Len had to restrain him from touching – from taking things too far.

He frowned.

Len hadn’t wanted Barry to touch him.

He frowned some more.

No, that wasn’t right, because he’d said...

_“I’m going to **ruin** you.”_

Barry shuddered, remembering how low Len’s voice had gotten, the rush of breath against his lips like Len had to be close in order to ensure Barry believed him.

He felt himself harden at the memory and blushed, wavering a little.

He shouldn’t...

_“I’m going to leave you bruised and sore and wet and wrecked, and **begging for more**.”_

He threw one arm over his eyes as the other crept down his chest.

 

**

 

Len pulled up to his safe house and parked his bike in the small garage, closing the pull-down door before taking a minute.

Bivolo was expanding his repertoire from anger to passion, and Len was not sure he approved. He frowned a little as he recalled Barry’s aggressive attentions, reaching up to brush the center of a particularly vivid bruise on his neck. From his reaction upon application of the Anti-Bivolo flashlight, this was outside the realm of normal interactions.

“Too bad,” he muttered to himself with a wistful smile that faded as he turned and headed up the stairs.

Lisa and Mick were there, although not waiting for him. Lisa was microwaving something she’d gotten from a neighbor in the building that Len had set her up in. A grandmother that missed her kids (now deceased), that Lisa let take care of her sometimes. It was some sort of chicken broccoli casserole, and it smelled divine. Mick was sprawled on a motheaten couch, drinking a beer and watching the news. They both looked up as he walked in, shedding his parka, goggles, and gun before moving further into the room. Their eyebrows made impressive climbs up their faces that he ignored, picking up a few pieces of mail that had been delivered to different addresses and gathered by Lisa before she’d come over to use his microwave and annoy him.

“Jeez, Lenny,” she said, setting the microwave to three minutes and starting it before walking over to him. She didn’t touch him, but she stared. “What happened?” she asked.

“Looks like you lost a fight with a suckerfish,” Mick interjected. Len threw him a look before shaking his head at Lisa.

“Bivolo happened,” he told them, to their surprise. “Apparently, he’s expanded the portfolio of emotions he is able to make other people feel,” he added, discarding the mail and leaning against the counter. “I had a run in with one of his victims who was experiencing a fit of passion,” he explained. Mick chuckled and took a drink of his beer, but Lisa made a face.

“God, you let someone maul you like that?” she asked. He shrugged.

“The alternative was to let them wander away and find a partner with fewer objections,” he replied. Lisa looked away but nodded before sighing.

“Well? Where are they now? Do Bivolo’s powers wear off or something?” she asked. He shrugged.

“Who can say? I took care of it. They’re free of his influence and no regrettable decisions were made. The only downside is I never got to the goods,” he said. Lisa wrinkled her nose but went back to the microwave as the timer went off. Len watched her walk away and went to the cutlery drawer, grabbing a fork while Lisa used a towel to retrieve her hot food, blowing on it to cool it to an edible temperature. Len waited for her to set it on the counter to get a fork of her own before picking up the bowl and moving towards the couch, already breaking up the chicken broccoli bake to promote a more edible temperature. Mick chuckled again as Lisa turned and discovered Len’s betrayal. She turned to see him eating his first forkful and gaped.

“ _Lenny_!” she hissed, stamping her foot. He blinked back at her, the face of innocence.

“Your neighbor’s a good cook,” he said, taking another bite. She scoffed, flipping him off before getting the larger container out to dish up a second bowl.

They talked about nothing for a few hours; Mick’s new lighter, Lisa’s new boyfriend, how Len was going to secure the illegally sourced and stored diamonds he’d gone to pick up some other way. Eventually Lisa packed up her casserole and left, but not before Len helped himself to a second serving.

Mick stuck around. He usually did. He was the reason Len always made sure the safe houses he picked had at least two bedrooms. Len did what he always did when they fell into companionable silence; he looked at blueprints for places he wanted to heist one day. Mick did what he always did when they fell into companionable silence; he drank.

“So how was it?” Mick asked. Len glanced at the small timer he kept on the table.

Thirty-two minutes, twelve seconds.

“How was what?” he asked, keeping his voice bored and indifferent.

“Playing tonsil hockey with the Flash?” Mick said with a smirk in his voice. Len stopped, straightening up and turning to look at his partner in crime.

“Excuse me?” he said, his face a mask of mild disbelief. Mick snorted.

“C’mon, _Lenny_. I’m dumb, but I ain’t _that_ dumb. You don’t let anyone touch you ‘cept three people. Me, Lise, and Long-Johns,” Mick said, counting them off on his fingers. Len rolled his eyes at the ridiculous nickname and turned back to the table so that Mick couldn’t see his jaw clench. He picked up the compass he was using to measure distances and fiddled with it idly as if he were actually paying attention to his planning process. “Not that I don’t think you’d help someone who’d been roofied,” Mick went on, sniffing as he picked idly at the couch. “But you wouldn’t let ‘em turn your neck into a chew toy, either. Prolly knock em out, drop em at a hospital or somethin’ – I mean, that’s what _I’d_ do,” he went on.

Len held back a sigh but had to roll his eyes again, because Mick was right.

“You’d also never let something like that interfere with a score,” Mick added, feeding Len’s annoyance at his partner’s perceptivity. “So that means Flash caught you on site, and you found out the fun way he’d been roofied by Bivolo,” Mick said. Len said nothing. Mick smirked. “You call his super squad to fix him up?” he asked. Len took a deep breath, turning and leaning against his planning table, arms folded as he studied his partner, who popped his eyebrows and then took a drink of his beer. “You gonna see him again?”

“Undoubtedly the next time I get ambitious with a heist,” Len replied without hesitation. Mick huffed.

“I meant outside of work,” he clarified.

“Why would I do that?” Len asked, and Mick snorted at him.

“This the part where you pretend you ain’t been showing off for your boy since he stood you up on your second date?” He asked. Len sniffed.

“Showing off. Really,” he replied. Mick was unimpressed.

“So...yes,” he said, answering his own question.

“I have tried to _kill_ him, Mick. Multiple times,” Len said, setting his jaw. Mick barked out a laugh.

“Lenny, if you were _trying_ to kill him, he would be dead,” he said, chuckling at the way Len rolled his eyes. “You ever consider the fact that you just suck at flirting with non-criminals?” he went on.

“I’m not flirting with the Flash,” Len insisted, voice still flat and bored.

“The hell you say. I’m the one that has to put up with it – I know what I’m seeing,” Mick grumbled with a judgmental once over at his partner, who huffed, looking away. “You gonna answer my question or what?” he needled.

“Which one?” Len evaded. Mick persisted.

“You gonna see him again without all the set dressing?”

“...Doubtful,” Len answered. Mick made a face.

“Why the hell not? You a coward now or somethin’?”

Instantly, Len’s jaw was like steel, and his lip curled as his teeth clenched, eyes cold and ruthless.

“Watch your mouth, Mick,” he snapped, enunciating each word the way he always did when he was pissed. Mick nodded. He’d have been worried if Len had reacted any other way.

“Okay, so it’s your boy then. _He’s_ the coward. Gotta say, that’s not surprising,” he replied. Len stood up, hands unfolding to his sides.

“Mick, I _swear_ , if you don’t _shut up_ about it—” he snapped, fit to kill. Mick rolled his eyes.

“Well if _you’re_ not a coward and _he’s_ not a coward, then _what_ is the fucking problem?” he snapped back, spreading his arms. Len stared at him, eyes remaining narrowed even as his jaw and his shoulders relaxed.

“You surprise me, Mick,” he said, instead of answering.

“You underestimate me, you mean,” Mick retorted.

“Clearly. Never thought you’d actively campaign for me to fraternize with the enemy,” Len said, looking him over. Mick shrugged.

“He helped Lisa that one time,” he said dismissively, like he didn't know exactly what that would mean to Snart. Then he pinned him with a meaningful stare. “And I know you. You like smart. You like a challenge. You like people who don’t take your shit, even when they know how dangerous you are. Slim meets all three criteria and then some,” he added. Len refolded his arms and closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose, but didn’t argue the point. Mick waited, draining the rest of his beer and tossing it towards the trash can. He resisted the urge to punch the air when it made it in. Eventually Len opened his eyes again, looking slightly disgruntled.

“Things would be a lot easier if I were attracted to _you_ ,” he said. Mick snorted.

“You are. Don’t front. But we both know you and I work better as partners in crime,” he replied, getting to his feet. “Figure out your shit. I’m tired of you using heists to flirt. Wanna actually steal some shit,” he added, before heading to bed. Len huffed, but said nothing as he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this has actually expanded a tiny bit. I should have known that with my propensity towards character development and exposition that this was going to be more than three chapters.  
> Right now I'm aiming for Five chapters.  
> Initial incident  
> Immediate Reaction  
> Collusion  
> Climax (heh)  
> Denouement  
> like a play.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the plotting begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions of past kidnappings and torture

Mick was gone when Len woke up the next morning. Normally, he wouldn’t think anything of it, but given their conversation the night previous, he took a moment to consider the possibilities before scoffing at himself and getting a cup of coffee. Mick was a hothead, but there was no chance that he would spill Len’s dirty laundry to anyone. Team Flash would arrest him before they would ever hear him out and Mick knew it. Len fixed his coffee and turned to his blueprints.

It wasn’t as if he could tell Mick that he’d already given Barry motivation towards consummating their long running tensions. That he’d already taken the first step, but it was Barry who needed to take the last one. Mick was straightforward, and for all that he wasn’t an idiot, he just didn’t understand the long game. Not that Len would _mind_ if Barry came to a decision sooner rather than later – and he’d spent a portion of last night researching some...helpful preparations – but Len was prepared to wait, and in the meantime, he had some controversial diamonds to procure from some very bad people.

As he went over everything he knew about where the diamonds would be next and how best to get at them, he tried _not_ to think about how it felt not to be stealing something just for the challenge or because he wanted it. Tried not to focus on how disgustingly altruistic the endgame of this particular heist would be. It was only a test run anyway; a toe in the water of crimes not strictly criminal in nature. He made a face and pretended it was because his coffee was bitter, even though no one was around to see.

Barry had told him there was good in him, and maybe that was true, but he would never be the hero that Barry was. He was a thief, and even though he didn’t kill people anymore, he was still a murderer. He would never make the miraculous transformation he could see Barry hope for whenever they met.

Barry apparently didn’t believe in baby-steps.

Leonard Snart was a thief.

So, he would be a thief.

But he would be a _better_ thief.

For Barry.

 

**

 

Iris was not having the best morning.

After getting the recordings from Caitlin, and waiting for Cisco to get back, and then listening to Cisco complain about Captain Cold stealing the Anti-Bivolo flashlight, she’d gone home, where Eddie had greeted her with roses and dinner, and had been just the best fiancée ever.

Right up until she’d delicately broached the possibility of Barry and Leonard.

Their argument had been loud, and Iris had slept on the couch.

She should have known better – Eddie was a _cop_ , and he’d seen first-hand what Snart was capable of – but she’d counted on him being more supportive of Barry’s potential happiness. She’d forgotten that Barry and Eddie hadn’t gotten off to the best of starts. She’d forgotten – or deliberately pushed aside – that rough patch where she’d put repairing her and Barry’s friendship ahead of her relationship with Eddie. Eddie wasn’t perfect, but Iris wasn’t always right either.

She’d gotten ahead of herself.

They’d both apologized to each other, because neither of them wanted to go to bed angry, but they needed some space – offered by their jobs – to work through their differing points of view vis-à-vis Snart-Allen.

Snallen?

Iris wrinkled her nose as she prepared someone’s double-shot mocchacino.

Snarry? Ew. No.

She sighed and gave up the search for a portmanteau for the moment. She was tired still. She’d overslept because her alarm was in the bedroom and Eddie was always awake hours before she was. She’d barely made it to work on time, so...

Iris West (soon to be Thawne) was not having the best morning.

It certainly was not improved by the sight of Golden Glider sliding casually into a booth near the back of the café, where Heatwave was already seated.

 

**

 

“You hate coffee,” Lisa said, dropping into the seat across from Mick in the back corner of Jitters. “Why’d you wanna meet here?” she asked. Mick sniffed and didn’t correct her.

“Len doesn’t come here,” he muttered. Lisa scoffed, but her expression became more serious after a moment.

“Somethin’ wrong with Lenny?” she asked. Mick rolled his eyes.

“That story he fed us last night – it was crap. You know it, I know it,” he said. She scoffed again.

“Yeah, I know. Lenny’s as cuddly as a cactus,” she replied, and he nodded. “So?”

“So, it was the Flash,” he told her. She blinked. “Flash was the ‘someone’ who got whammied last night. I bet Len was tickled pink right up until he realized why the Flash was gettin’ cozy with him,” Mick said with a smirk. Lisa stared at him for a long three seconds and then leaned forward, lacing her fingers together on the table in front of her.

“Okay, so what do we do about it?” she asked. He grinned.

“I knew you saw it too,” he chuckled. She snorted.

“They’re adorable. It’s disgusting how adorable they are with this whole bad boy/good guy romance angle they got. It’s a fairy tale. Mazel tov,” she said, and Mick chuckled again at her flat delivery. “But when are we going to go back to the _work_?” she asked, and he gestured at her with a nod.

“ _That’s_ what I said,” he told her. She blinked.

“You talked to him about it?”

“Oh yeah.”

“And?”

Mick snorted, and Lisa rolled her eyes, leaning back in her seat.

“You an’ I both know that he ain’t gonna do squat about it,” he told her. She sighed, delicately rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“Yeah, well; you know how stubborn Len can be,” she said. He rolled his eyes with a grunt before nodding.

“I’m wondering how stubborn the other guy is,” he suggested. She looked at him for a moment, watched him pop a single eyebrow, and then laughed aloud.

“Who, _Flash_?” she asked. He glanced around at the customers and the baristas delivering and taking orders and gestured for her to lower her voice with a glare, but she just gaped at him. “Are you serious?” she asked, quieter. He shrugged, nodding. She huffed a disbelieving breath at him. “Whaddaya wanna do, Mick? March up to STAR Labs and pass him a _note?_ ‘Do you wanna date Captain Cold, circle yes or no’?” she scoffed. Mick stared at her expectantly and said nothing. After a moment, the smirk of bemusement faded into a pout of speculation.

Mick waited.

“That’s a terrible idea,” Lisa told him.

He waited.

“He’d never stop long enough to listen,” she added.

He waited.

“...His team might...be persuaded...” she said.

He waited. She shook her head at him, giving him a shrewd once over.

“It’s still a terrible idea,” she told him.

He waited.

“If Len finds out, he’s gonna kill us both,” she said.

He arched an eyebrow. She scoffed.

“What the hell. All’s fair in love and war, right?” she said. He smirked.

They both leaned forward to push themselves up to their feet, only to look up when one of Jitters’ baristas appeared at the end of their table bearing two coffees.

“Okay,” she said with a bright smile like she wasn’t in the presence of two of Flash’s most dangerous opponents. “One venti ‘Hot Tamale’ latte, no foam, extra spice for the gentleman,” she said, setting a to-go cup down in front of Mick. He looked at it.

It said ‘Heatwave’ right on the cup. What the hell.

“And one venti ‘Heart of Gold’ frappuccino, extra whip for the lady,” she added, setting the other coffee down in front of Lisa, who stared at the edible gold dust that decorated the whip.

Her cup read ‘G. Glider’. They looked up at the barista. Her smile was slightly smug and knowing as she inclined her head forward and lowered her voice.

“I’m Iris,” she introduced. “I hear you’re looking for a conversation with Team Flash,” she added. They glanced at each other and then gaped at her. “You are very bad at keeping your voice down. I’m on Team Flash, and I’m off in twenty minutes. Enjoy your coffee,” she said.

“We didn’t order this, and we’re not paying,” Mick told her. She scoffed.

“Color me shocked. It’s on the house,” she replied, making him blink. She smiled again and walked away. Mick looked at Lisa, who watched Iris walk away and hummed thoughtfully.

“We should leave,” Mick said. Lisa looked at him. Looked back at the girl. Considered their options.

“Probably,” she replied, before pulling her cup closer and taking a sip through the straw. She gave a surprised little noise of pleasure and looked at the cup. “Not bad,” she said. He stared at her. She rolled her eyes. “You’re the one who said we should talk to Team Flash. She’s on Team Flash. If she’d called him, he’d be here by now,” she said. He considered that and sighed, but pulled his coffee towards him and took a sip, occupying his hands from reaching for his lighter.

It was hot – drinkable, but barely – and the heat spread throughout his mouth and down his throat as he swallowed. His noise of pleasure at the prolonged burn of what could only be ground habanero pepper was a sudden and somewhat loud exhalation, and he sucked in a breath before hiccupping. He blinked, sniffing hard at the sudden clarity in his sinuses. Lisa was staring at him, eyebrows arched.

He blinked at her and hiccupped again.

“’s hot,” he said, and hiccupped again.

 

**

 

Iris took a breath and tried not to think about how fucking insane it was to approach Heatwave and The Golden Glider directly.

But it was for _Barry!_

As soon as she’d heard them say ‘Flash’, she had homed in on their conversation, and it didn’t take long to realize that they were talking about Barry, and Len, and _Barry and Len_. If they were conspiring to put those two together, she was going to muscle past her totally justifiable fear and help them. Maybe they would have ideas. It wasn’t as if they could arrange a meet-cute at a restaurant somewhere, and she met Eddie because her father was a cop. She sighed as she wiped down the front counter and then smiled at another customer, grabbing her register.

Glancing at the corner booth, she could see that Rory and Lisa were still there, and she let herself give a satisfied smile.

Her life was so strange.

The smile drooped a little.

Eddie and her father could never know about this.

 

**

 

Getting off her shift, Iris made sure to bid her coworkers a loud farewell, not looking over her shoulder as she left the coffee shop and headed towards her car.  

She could feel their presence before they grabbed her by the arms and hustled her down the street. She gritted her teeth to avoid screaming, and forced herself to breathe normally.

“Hey, guys, fancy seeing you here. How’s it going? Was the coffee good?” she asked in as bored a voice as she could manage as they hustled her around the side of the building. She grunted a little as her back hit the alleyway wall and took an unsteady breath as she looked between them. Heatwave looked like he was imagining her on fire. Lisa was looking at her critically. “Gotta say, I was imagining a friendlier chat,” Iris said. Lisa pouted.

“Oh, we can be plenty friendly,” she said. “Just as soon as you tell us what you heard and what you know,” she added.

“Yeah,” Mick said.

Iris looked between them and took a breath.

“So Flash had a run in with Roy Bivolo. Bivolo had a bunch of art gallery attendants trying to kill each other. Flash got whammied, so—” she started, but Lisa frowned.

“The Galway Gallery?” she asked, and Iris nodded. “That was the day before yesterday,” Lisa observed. Iris nodded.

“Yeah, well. Normal people get hit by Bivolo’s whammy immediately. With Flash it’s more like a time-release aspirin,” she explained. Lisa glanced at Mick, who snorted and then smirked. Lisa nodded for Iris to continue. “Right, so 24 hours after Bivolo, Flash – fully whammied – gets word that Cold is in some warehouse in south Central,” she said. Mick held up a finger.

“How?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her. She narrowed her eyes back at him.

“None of your business,” she replied. He growled, but Lisa slapped his arm.

“Not what we’re here for,” she reminded him, and he growled again, but folded his arms and nodded disgruntledly at Iris.

“Right. So, he goes and...” she rolled her entire head. “Things happen,” she said.

“He turned Len’s neck into raw hamburger,” Mick told her. Her eyes widened.

“Whoa. What?” she asked, mouth falling open and then twitching into a smile as she tried and failed to smother a giggle. “That is...oh my god,” she stammered, one hand coming up to her chest, the other covering her mouth as her eyes danced with laughter. Lisa smirked. Mick frowned.

“What’d your boy look like?” he asked. Iris' good humor faded and she rolled her eyes with a sigh.

“He was so embarrassed by his behavior that he ran off,” she told them, to their annoyance. “He didn’t come back to the lab, and we haven’t seen him this morning,” she added, before looking at his watch. “We probably won’t see him unless something crime related comes up, by which time he’ll be completely healed, so the only person who knows how he looked was Cisco, who went to unwhammy him,” she told them. Lisa made a pleased noise of speculation at the mention of STAR Labs' resident tech expert. Iris glanced at her. “We should go to STAR labs and talk with the others about this while Flash is too embarrassed to show his face,” she told them.

“In due time. What’d you hear in the shop?” Lisa asked.

“You wanna set Cold and Flash up on a date,” Iris reported succinctly with a nod. “I’m in,” she said.

“Why?” Mick asked. Iris took a breath.

“He’s my friend. He’s lonely. I care. He can only have a relationship with someone who already knows who he is out of the suit, so his options are pretty limited,” she said. They sized her up and she shrugged. “I want him to be happy. I _assume_ you want the same for your brother,” she offered. Lisa said nothing, but there was a less threatening edge to her look.

Lisa looked at Mick, who returned the look for a second before giving a shrug and a nod. Iris smiled brightly.

“Great! My car’s down the block. I’ll drive.”

 

**

 

“Alright, wait here. I don’t want them calling him as a panic reaction,” Iris said, looking at both of them for confirmation. Mick rolled his eyes.

“Hurry up, I’m bored,” he told her, and she gaped at him.

“This was _your_ idea,” she reminded him. He stared at her.

“I didn’t think it would _take_ this long,” he replied. She stared at him for a moment before shaking her head.

“Just...wait here,” she said, before turning and walking into the Cortex.

“Hey, Iris,” Caitlin greeted brightly. Iris smiled.

“Hey, Cait; Cisco. So, you know how we sometimes form unlikely, but ultimately stable – if temporary – partnerships with our less unbalanced villains for the betterment of the city, despite their tendency to be cunning and manipulative?” She asked. They both looked at her, frowning slightly.

“That’s a _really_ specific question, Iris,” Cisco said slowly, and she sighed.

“Well, I was thinking about what happened last night—” she started, and Cisco made a noise of disgust.

“Please, god, do not talk about that. I’m gonna have to go to therapy for _years_ to get the image of B—”

 _“Cisco!”_ Iris snapped, and he jerked, blinking at her with a taken aback expression. Iris shook her head with a tight smile. “Let’s not say his name for the next little bit,” she said, and he stared at her for a second before making an uncomfortable face.

“Please... _please_ don’t,” he said, shaking his head. Caitlin frowned, confused, before looking at Iris’ awkward face and making a noise of uneasy realization

“Iris,” she started, but broke off with a noise of alarm, jolting out of her chair and almost falling over at the sight of Mick Rory coming into view from around the corner. He leaned against the entrance, watching them. Lisa appeared behind him, strutting into the room and leaning in the doorway across from Mick. Iris winced as Caitlin staggered down the steps into the main Cortex, where Cisco was standing. The two of them moved together out of a need for protection, looking from the villains in the room to Iris with shock and betrayal.

“What the _hell_ , West!” Cisco snapped, and she shrugged.

“They’re here to help?” she asked.

“Hel—are you _kidding_?” Caitlin demanded shrilly. Iris sighed and moved around the main console down the stairs.

“Okay, look, I _get_ it, okay? But, look – they’re unarmed, and their boss doesn’t know they’re here,” she said. Neither of them looked assured by this, and Cisco was grinding his jaw looking at Lisa.

“That you know of. You may have noticed they’re not the most honest of people,” he said. Iris glanced between him and Lisa, who tilted her head in concession and looked away with a wry sort of smile. She filed that away for later and looked at her friends.

“Well they can hardly conspire to set Cold up with Flash if he’s in on it, can they?” she asked. They looked at her. She arched her eyebrows. They looked back at Mick and Lisa, who arched theirs too.

“Why on earth would they want to do that?” Cisco asked.

“Because it’s annoying watching him flirt when he should be working,” Mick replied, pushing off the wall and moving deeper into the room. “He used to care about the job – about the plan. Now all he cares about is red leather and lightning. You should see him when he talks about The Flash. Giddy as a school boy - it's unprofessional,” he said.

“And we hear tell your boy’s not opposed,” Lisa added.

“Definitely not,” Iris confirmed, but Caitlin squawked.

“Wha--- _Iris_ , you and I both know that was Bivolo messing with B—with _the Flash_ ,” she said, shooting an anxious look at Mick and Lisa before shaking her head. “Bivolo _whammied_ him,” she insisted. Iris nodded.

“Yeah, and the last time he was whammied, he snapped at a lot of people and picked a _lot_ of fights in the 24 hours before we figured out was wrong with him. That was when Bivolo only did anger. This time Flash was whammied with...horniness, and I don’t know about you, but I didn’t see him going around making out with every Tom, Dick, and Henrietta he came across,” she told them. They stared at her. “And I mean, he had to be feeling that. But he made no untoward advances towards anyone – until he came across Snart,” she said.

Cisco and Caitlin absorbed this information, but Cisco shook his head, darting a glare past Iris at Lisa.

“No. This is a trick. It has to be. That’s what they _do_ , Iris. They worm their way in, tell you just enough to get you to trust them, and then they _burn_ you,” he said, glancing at the two of them and shaking his head. “No. I’m calling him,” he said, pulling out his phone. Mick and Lisa tensed, but Iris grabbed Cisco by the shoulders.

“Cisco, please. You were there. You heard Cold call us to fix our friend. He didn’t _have_ to do that. There were a hundred different ways he could have handled the situation – many of them bad. But _he_ called _us,_ and that means he cares at least a little about what happens to The Flash,” she said. He made a face.

“Wow, yeah, he didn’t leave him in a ditch somewhere. I’ll be sure to give him an award – the ‘not as big a dick as you could have been’ award,” Cisco said, setting his jaw. “As far as I’m concerned, this – _them_ – it is all a part of some bigger play,” he told her. Iris shook her head.

“He cannot have planned for Bivolo’s powers to affect the Flash that way, and he could not have guaranteed that the Flash would react that way to _him_ if he did. And we both know Snart takes a hell of a lot longer than twelve _hours_ to plan _anything_ ,” she said. He stared at her and said nothing, but he also wasn’t dialing. She sighed. “I know I’m asking you to take a lot on faith, and if it goes bad, it’s on me,” she told him, and he shook his head again. “But I need you to help me get these two emotionally clueless men together,” she said. He sighed. “For all our sakes, Cisco. I don’t know about you, but I cannot go through another night of him recapping his favorite meta-fights and having them all be Leonard Snart; not again,” she pleaded.

He wavered; head tipping back, eyes closing as he briefly relived the last time that had happened.

“He does that?” Mick asked. Iris looked at him and sighed.

“Oh yeah,” she replied. Mick snorted.

“Nerd,” he said. Cisco glared at him, opening his mouth to retort.

“Hey!” Caitlin snapped defensively, and everyone looked at her in surprise, to see she looked quite surprised herself. She blushed and looked away for a moment, swallowing hard. “Don’t talk about him like that,” she managed, setting her jaw. Mick looked her over and smirked, but said nothing. “Okay, let’s take a step back. We’re all obviously very invested in what happens next, but we need to be sure that it’s necessary for us to step in where we haven’t been asked,” she said, taking a breath and straightening her shoulders as she went into full scientist mode. “We need to look at the facts, and make absolutely sure that we’re right about our hypothesis about what our respective friends may or may not feel,” she said.

Cisco stared at her.

“Caitlin, you’re not entertaining this,” he said, surprised, and she sighed.

“It’s...uncomfortable, given that this one strapped me to a booby-trapped chair and threatened to set me on fire,” she said.

“Offered,” Mick corrected, and she closed her eyes for a moment before shaking her head.

“But they’re here, they’re not going away, and...I care about B—about _Flash’s_ happiness. If that happiness has a chance of lowering the rate of theft and assault and property damage in Central City, so be it,” she finished, before clearing her throat. Cisco stared at her some more but eventually rolled his eyes, slipping his phone back into his pocket. Iris patted his arm and he shook his head. Lisa and Mick shared a look that indicated their doubt as to Leonard’s likeliness to tone himself down just because he was dating The Flash.

“This is going to end very badly and this is a pre-emptive ‘I told you so’,” Cisco announced. Caitlin nodded, pressing her lips tightly together.

“Duly noted, Cisco. I think we should start with their first meeting,” she said, straightening her shoulders again.

“Neither of us were there,” Mick said, gesturing to him and Lisa. Caitlin hesitated for half a second before swallowing her discomfort and adjusting her sleeve.

“Fortunately, we have some data on the event,” she said. Cisco blinked.

“Nnnnoo?” he said, turning to look at her with confused and awkward eyebrows. “We don’t?” he said. She bit her lip and raised her eyebrows at him. He quailed before ducking closer to her. “I thought we weren’t ever gonna talk about it,” he said, and Caitlin sighed.

“Iris already knows,” she said. Cisco made a shocked and affronted noise.

“You told _Iris_?” he demanded.

“She guessed, and we both know I’m terrible at prevarication,” she told him. His shoulders drooped, but he didn’t argue the point, looking at Mick.

“We have audio recordings of the fight,” he said. Mick and Lisa both looked intrigued, and he wavered for half a second before throwing his hands up in defeat and shaking his head. “In fact, we have recordings of pretty much every encounter Flash has ever had with Snart,” he said, before groaning. “But we can only listen to the first three,” he said, folding his arms with a sour expression.

“Why’s that?” Lisa asked, and he sneered at her.

“Because after that your brother threatened to turn my brother’s fingers into stumps unless I gave him the Flash’s identity,” he snapped. She sighed, folding her arms unhappily. Mick made a face like he was slightly impressed. Iris rubbed her forehead for a second before holding up a hand.

“What if we censored it?” she asked. Cisco glanced at her, unhappy as he grudgingly nodded.

“I could probably do that. It might take me a little while. Half an hour? I gotta adapt some software,” he told her. She nodded, patting him on the shoulder as he walked to a nearby console, and Iris smiled, but it was forced.

“Okie dokie...anyone hungry?” she asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So some things about this.  
> I'm watching the show again, but I had to start from the beginning and I *just* finished season 1, so a lot of this is not canon compliant  
> *  
> First the trigger warnings:  
> Caitlin mentions the time she was kidnapped by Mick and Leonard  
> Cisco mentions how Leonard froze his brother's fingers in order to get Barry's identity.  
> *  
> So Iris is an investigative journalist in the show, but in the fic she still works at Jitters and is an independent investigative journalist.  
> The only Thawne in this story is Eddie, and there will not be an explanation for how he's still alive and Eobard is gone because that's not the point of this story.  
> Jay Garrick and Earth 2 will not be appearing, and neither will Cisco's powers.  
> Basically, this is at some nebulous point in season 2 ish after the death of Lewis but Zoom and the Legends are not a part of this universe.  
> Also, it's 2 in the morning and I don't have a beta, so if there are any huge errors (not including spelling or grammar, which I'll probably catch and fix on one of my many re-reads), feel free to let me know.  
> Thank you for your time, this has been a fic PSA


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry decides *not* to wallow.  
> Iris is a schemer.  
> Lisa is just as smart as her brother.  
> Cisco would like the world to stop, please.  
> Just stop.  
> Leonard makes spaghetti from scratch.  
> Joe wonders what even is his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mild warnings for abusive past and burn scars.  
> mentions of therapy.

Barry only woke up because his stomach growled so loudly it pulled him directly out of REM sleep, and he sighed, staring up the ceiling for about two minutes, before getting up to make himself breakfast. He glanced at the clock. Almost one in the afternoon.

Good thing he was off work today.

He sighed, waiting an eternity for his coffee maker to heat up.

Idly he glanced around for his phone before hanging his head when he remembered that he’d left it at the lab last night. He’d Flashed straight home because he’d been too embarrassed about—

_—Eager lips and a breathy chuckle—_

Barry shivered and smothered a groan as he settled a cup under the coffee spigot.

He needed to change his sheets.

He rubbed a hand over his face and tried to ignore how hot his skin felt.

“Hey, Barr,” Joe said, startling him slightly, and he fidgeted.

“Hey, Joe,” he replied, glancing at the coffeepot clock again. “I thought you’d be at work,” he said, and Joe looked at him.

“It’s Saturday, Barry,” he said, and Barry blinked at him before sighing. “You alright, son?”

“Yeah! Yeah, no, I’m fine,” Barry said with a nod and a tired laugh. “Just a long night,” he said.

“Yeah, I noticed. Didn’t hear you come in last night,” Joe replied, putting his own cup in the one cup coffee maker as Barry removed his. “So, what was it that kept you out so late?” he asked.

Barry tried to school his expression into something neutral while his heart exploded in his chest while simultaneously dropping into his socks.

There was no way – _no way_ – that Joe could know what happened.

Oh god, unless Iris told him.

No, he only looked curious, not interrogative.

Crisis averted. Thank god.

He relaxed a little.

“Oh, nothing really. Couple purse snatchers. Cats in trees. Attempted muggings – it was a pretty boring night, actually, just...long,” he said with a quick nod to assure Joe before taking a sip of his coffee.

Which had no sugar or creamer in it.

He swallowed down the bitter, unaltered coffee and tried not to look like his tastebuds were dying.

Joe stared at him.

“You know what I don’t get?” Joe asked, and Barry feigned innocence. He feigned it as hard as he could.

“No?”

“How you managed to keep anything about your superhero life secret from anyone for so long with how _horrible_ a liar you are,” Joe replied, and Barry opened his mouth to say something, anything, in defense of himself, only for it to come out as an aggrieved but conceding sigh. “What happened?” Joe asked.

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” Barry told him. Joe tilted his head.

“Was it dangerous?” he asked, and Barry shook his head immediately.

“No. No – god no. Just...the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me, that’s all,” he said, rubbing his eyes again and going to the fridge for his creamer. Joe blinked a little, looking over his foster-son.

“More embarrassing than the time you touched a meta who turned your suit into a bomb and you had to run back to STAR Labs in your boxer shorts?” he asked. Barry shuddered.

“God, I’d forgotten about that,” he muttered, and Joe chuckled. Barry sighed. “So, it turns out I was, in fact, whammied by Bivolo,” he admitted with a chagrinned wince. Joe’s eyebrows popped up.

“Are you alright?” he asked immediately, and Barry waved a hand.

“It’s taken care of. Got the bright light in my eye and everything,” he replied, nodding. Joe relaxed, but then frowned.

“If you were whammied, why weren’t you...y’know,” he gestured vaguely, earning another wince. “I mean, the last time this happened, you all but told the boss to go to hell, Barr,” he said, and Barr rubbed his face.

“Yeah, well, that’s because last time he made me _angry_ , but that’s not the emotion he was targeting this time,” he said. Joe shook his head and Barry screwed up his face. “This time he made me feel...amorous?” he said, eyes squinted, lips pressed together into a smile that was not a smile. Joe arched both eyebrows, said nothing for a moment, and then looked away, taking a drink of his coffee. Barry nodded, taking a sip of his (much better tasting) coffee too.

“You _did_ compliment Eddie on his cologne, which I thought was a little weird,” Joe commented, and Barry groaned, raising a hand to his face.

“Oh, god, I did, didn’t I,” he said.  Joe chuckled.

“So that was work, and nothing super embarrassing happened there, so I’m assuming your mortification is Flash related. What’d you do, hump Cisco’s leg?” he asked, biting back a laugh at how quickly Barry’s face went red, as well as the look of horror that crossed it.

“What— _no_! Jesus, Joe,” he blurted, and Joe laughed before shaking his head.

“As long as the Flash isn’t reported for indecent exposure, I think you’re gonna be fine, Barry,” he said, patting his foster son on the shoulder. “And you know; you feel embarrassed right now – don’t think I don’t know that’s why you’re not spending every second of your day off at the lab – but I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” he said. Barry looked at him, eyebrows arched disbelievingly. “They’re your friends, and they have your back. They’ll understand that whatever happened last night wasn’t your fault, and they won’t hold it against you,” he said with a sure nod.

Barry considered that, smiling softly as the tension in his shoulders eased.

His stomach grumbled noisily. Joe scoffed.

“But first breakfast. How about you thaw some bacon and I’ll make the eggs,” Joe said.

 

**

 

Mick hated waiting.

Inaction was boring. One of the reasons fire was so fascinating – even when it was still, it was moving.

He leaned against a table full of computers, flicking his lighter open and closed; the slide and snap of metal the only sound in the room aside from the steady click and clack of Cisco’s typing. Lisa and Iris had gone to get a board for them to write their findings on for this little experiment, so it was just him and the nerd squad: Cisco Ramon – inventor of his favorite gun in the world, and Caitlin Snow – prettiest doctor Mick had ever seen outside television.

He wondered if only the ugly doctors went into prison medicine and thought what a shame that was.

He was looking at the lighter, but in his peripheral, he could see her. Glancing over, looking away, biting her lip, glancing back.

Mick was intimately familiar with the concept of fascination, even the kind not related to fire. He was used to a more direct approach, but he could still recognize it. Despite their previous encounter, his volatile nature, and her moral righteousness, she couldn’t not look at him. He flicked his lighter open and lit it, admiring the flame.

“You’re staring, doc,” he said, looking up from the flame to her startled blush. She blinked, but didn’t look away. “Somethin’ on your mind?” he asked. She swallowed hard at the question.

“I... read your file,” she said, clearing her throat and folding her arms. Mick watched that and said nothing, the flame from his lighter still flickering in front of him. “You suffered third degree burns to almost fifty percent of your body,” she said, looking him over. He huffed, looked at the flickering flame in his hand, and snapped the lighter shut, stuffing it in his pocket as he focused on Caitlin Snow.

“If you wanna see me with my shirt off, doc, you just gotta say,” he told her.

The clickety-clack of computer keys ended abruptly, and there was a small noise of disgust before Cisco stood up.

“I can do this in the other room,” he muttered, leaving with a leery look at his co-worker. Caitlin watched him leave, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, entire body tense as a tripwire, cheeks heating to an alluring shade of pink. Mick let a wicked smirk pull at his lips as he looked her over. Her mouth snapped shut and she blinked.

“Forgetit,” she said, turning away with a look of exasperation. Mick supposed this should be the moment where he considered all his options and thought rationally about things, but—

That was Len’s thing, not his.

He threw his jacket over the nearest chair, and his shirt followed it two seconds later.

The movement was what drew Caitlin’s eyes back to him, but it certainly wasn’t what kept them there.

He may have flexed a bit. So what.

She didn’t move for a moment, just looking at him; but like a moth to flame, she came forward until she stood just in front of him. She reached for his arm, hesitating at the last second to look at him for permission. Mick said nothing, just moved his arm forward until it touched her fingers.

She looked at his burn.

He looked at her.

Her brows were furrowed in concentration, mouth set in a focused frown that occasionally broke as she bit her lower lip. She tucked her hair behind her ear at one point. Mick smirked but tried not to make a noise to distract her when he realized that given something to focus on, there was no hint of fear. At this moment, small as it was, she was more interested in his burn than she was afraid of him. She examined his arm from fingers to shoulder and then immediately moved to the burns over his chest and down his ribs, only stopping when she reached the hem of his jeans. She blinked, seeming to remember what she was doing and to whom. The pretty blush came back, and she blinked at him, holding her breath as if expecting reprisal. Mick huffed.

“Don’t stop on my account, doc,” he said, and she cleared her throat.

“These healed horribly. I’m surprised you aren’t in terrible amounts of pain,” she told him. He shrugged, saying nothing about the bone deep ache he'd been feeling for months.

“I deal with it fine,” he said, and she blinked, gaping at him.

“You—are you in pain _now?”_ she asked, and he shrugged again, flexing his burnt hand. Her brows furrowed in concern. “Do you want a painkiller?” she asked. He looked her in the eyes, prepared to brush her off, but despite a level of concern he wasn’t used to dealing with, there was no pity in her eyes, so he shrugged away his hesitation and smirked.

“I’ll take a scotch on the rocks, if you’re buyin’,” he said. She wrinkled her nose in annoyance at his answer. He liked what that did to the dead thing in his chest.

“That’s bad for your liver,” she mumbled, before walking away. Mick followed her, watching as she looked through a wall of little bottles muttering to herself before taking one out and filling a syringe with a small amount. She jumped when she turned to walk back to the room only to find Mick waiting in the doorway, and he tried not to smile at the small noise she made. “You scared me,” she muttered.

“I’m a scary guy,” he replied, and she looked at him for a moment before stepping right up to him and taking his arm. He let her, and wished he could feel the touch of her skin, settling for the faint scent of her perfume. He didn’t react when she injected him, and she glanced from his arm to his face as she injected him, so he knew she could see it. She blinked, finished the injection, and then straightened, looking him over.

“You didn’t feel that,” she said, and he shrugged. “At all?” she asked. He shrugged again. She gaped. “That’s horrible,” she told him. He snorted, tickled by her concern for a pyro, thief, and murderer. “Complete nerve death, that’s—” she shook her head, unable to finish the thought, and he watched her fret about it for a moment before she suddenly turned to face him, her eyes hard and determined. “How would you feel about letting me run some tests on your arm?” she asked him.

He scoffed, but didn’t get to answer, as that was when Lisa and Iris returned with their board, wheeling it into the room Mick was standing on the border of and distracting Caitlin from the full on ‘doctor’ mode she’d dropped into.

Iris’ eyebrows rose at the sight of Mick Rory shirtless, but Lisa just snorted.

“Mick, put your shirt on,” she snapped playfully. He grunted, but returned to the room to do as he was told. He watched Iris look from him to Caitlin with eyebrows still raised, and Caitlin was already stammering air and shaking her head, with that pretty little blush.

“Okie dokie,” Iris said, looking around. “Where’s Cisco?”

“Couldn’t take the heat,” Mick replied. Iris looked at Caitlin, who came back into the room, pointedly not looking at Mick as she gestured to another area of Team Flash’s nerd stadium.

“He went into the other room,” she said. Iris nodded, but Lisa straightened when she turned to go.

“I’ll go get him,” she offered. Iris blinked, but shrugged.

“Alright,” she replied, watching Lisa sashay away. She looked at Mick, who rolled his eyes, finding a chair and flopping into it as though he didn’t have a care in the world. The lighter came out and he flicked it open and closed with a metronomic rhythm.

This whole ‘get Cold and Flash to realize they need to bang it out’ business had made Mick realize two things: one, that he should never again involve himself in someone else’s personal affairs. It was time consuming and mostly boring, and if that’s what he wanted, he could just stay at the safe house and drink.

And two, if they were gonna get Lenny his nerd, and Lisa was obviously here to get her nerd, there was absolutely no reason Mick shouldn’t get his own nerd in the process.

 

**

 

Cisco gritted his teeth. He could hear her coming, stilettoes clicking on the linoleum.

He wanted to be angrier than he was, given that Lisa was instrumental in engineering one of the worst experiences of his life. His mamá would never look at him the same way again, and Dante had almost lost four of his fingers, except that Caitlin was a very good doctor.  And then Ferris Air, and those pilots...That blood was on Cisco’s hands too. No one had forced him to support Barry’s plan to trust Captain Cold.

He could have thought of something, if only there’d been more time.

“Hey, Cisco,” Lisa said, with that flirt in her voice, and he hated the flutter his heart gave at the sound of it, and the way she leaned against the desk next to him. Tried to focus on his program, and making sure it censored every instance of Barry’s name.

“What do you want?” he asked, resolutely not looking at her. He was angry, he reminded himself. Lisa was quiet for a moment.

“I was thinking about that deal Lenny had with the Flash, when he asked us for help that one time,” she said, and he gritted his teeth.

“You mean the one where you stabbed us in the back and three people died?” he asked, setting his jaw. Lisa sighed but didn’t comment.

“The deal was we’d help you out if Team Flash erased or destroyed everything there was to have on Lenny,” she soldiered on, and he arched an eyebrow at his screen.

“So?”

“So, these audio recordings count as something, don’t they?” she asked pointedly. Cisco made a noise of mock interest.

“Well I guess that makes us both liars now, doesn’t it, considering you never had any intention of actually helping us,” he said. She sighed again.

“Christ’s sake, Cisco, how long are you gonna hold that against me?” she asked, and he leaned back in his chair, staring at her with exasperation.

“How long am I— You played like you were interested in me so you could kidnap me and extort me into making weapons that are capable of killing my best friend, used those weapons to kill people, and almost ruined my brother’s ability to provide for himself ever again. You gained and then broke my trust – twice, and you know what? That part’s on me, cause I knew _exactly_ what kind of person you were and I _still_ trusted you,” he said, shaking his head at Lisa’s chagrinned expression. “So, I’m through letting you wrap me around your little finger just because you’re clever _and_ pretty,” he said, trying not to blush at the unexpected look of pleasure on Lisa’s face. Dammit. “The only reason I’m helping with this is so I can figure out what your angle is and then make sure whatever plan you have to hurt The Flash doesn’t work,” he told her. She sighed.

“Cisco,” she started, before making a face and tossing her hair. She studied him for a moment, eyes narrowed, before tilting her head. “I swear on my mother,” she said as she looked him dead in the eye, making him blink. “That aside from getting you to forgive me, the only reason I’m here is to pull Lenny and the Flash’s heads out of their asses and make them realize they’re insane for each other,” she told him.

Cisco stared at her. He was pretty sure that his face was flushed, and he failed at fighting the urge to swallow the lump in his throat. His heart was pounding. His computer beeped at him. He looked at it, clearing his throat.

“The program’s finished. I’ll be out in a minute,” he said, trying to ignore the tango his heart was doing in his chest. Lisa sighed again, but nodded, standing and giving him space. She paused at the door, looking back at him.

“I’m sorry, you know,” she said, and he looked at her despite himself. She shrugged. “Don’t know how else to be,” she added with an unhappy look. He stared at her as she turned and walked out of the room, sagging in his chair and wiping his overheated face.

What the hell was it with Team Flash and their villains?

 

**

 

Len stared at the wall, considering everything that had happened that day.

It’d been fairly simple to replan the job, given what he knew about his target. The opportunity to finish what he started had come that very afternoon. He’d gotten the goods and handed them off to a contact – someone new. Someone he hadn’t worked with before. First meetings were usually rough, and this was no different. There had been far too many comments about the nature of the bruises that still decorated Len’s neck, but in the end, the job was done and there was very little fuss about it.

Internally, he was still assessing.

It’d been challenging, in its way. Different parameters, different method, but still carried a hint of that inherently illicit thrill of doing something outside the rules. It didn’t carry the _paycheck_ of gigs like the Khan Daq Dynasty Diamond, but what nowadays did? He took a breath and let it out slowly

There’d be fewer chases, fewer clashes with armed guards or police.

Fewer, not none.

Not to mention the get out of jail free card that came attached.

He sighed again.

He didn’t hate it.

It wasn’t ideal, but he could work with it until it was a better fit. He looked at his computer when it chimed. There was an email linking him to a news article that had just been published online. He read through it once, and then printed it out, reading it again. He smiled, folding the paper in half and then in half again.

Now that he had this figured out, he could direct his attentions to another puzzle that had been vexing him recently.

He ran a finger absently over his lower lip, his train of thought leading to a precarious station.

It wasn’t the only way he could do it, but it was the way that least led to him being shot. It was a catch twenty-two of course, since to avoid being shot he had to risk being shot, but life was risk. He huffed and shook his head and marveled at what he’d been reduced to.

He was going to have to go shopping first.

 

**

 

Barry sighed as he approached the doors of STAR Labs, swiping his keycard to open the doors and walking slowly down the hall. He had the suit in a bag over his shoulder; he wasn’t ready to put it back on and that meant asking Joe to drop him off rather than risking another pair of shoes (although Cisco was in the process of making him a pair of friction resistant tennis shoes, so that was something).

He knew his friends were cool – the coolest, actually – but his stomach was still in knots.

He’d made out with Leonard Snart – a known murderer. It was enough to make anyone think he needed his head examined. They thought it was all Bivolo, so they’d overlook it as an aberration, but he couldn’t imagine how they’d look at him if they knew that, given the opportunity, he’d do it again, Bivolo or no Bivolo. He sighed, running a hand over his twisted-up gut. It wasn’t a very heroic thing to want.

He heard talking as he neared the Cortex and took a breath, putting on his best casual smile. Time to face the music.

He had time to wonder if there’d be actual music, and what kind of obnoxious selection Cisco would choose to make up for the mortification he’d gone through the night previous before his brain caught up with what his eyes were telling him.

Cisco, Caitlin, and Iris were standing in front of one of Stein’s huge whiteboards.

At the top, in bold, capital letters, read: COLD/FLASH.

It was filled with writing – red on the left side under ‘COLD’, blue on the right side under ‘FLASH’.

Iris was holding the blue marker.

Lisa Snart was holding the red marker.

Lisa Snart was holding the red marker.

Lisa Snart and Mick Rory were in the Cortex.

“Whhaaaaaa—?!?!” he stammered as the bag holding the Flash suit slipped out of his hands and fell unnoticed to the floor, and five heads turned to look at him.

Iris, Caitlin, and Cisco looked panicked.

Mick and Lisa looked confused and suspicious.

“Barry!” Iris said, blinking at him before putting on a wide smile. “Hey! I was wondering when you’d get here,” she said. The others looked at her, and she looked at Lisa and Mick. “Guys, this is Barry. He’s _also_ a _friend_ of the Flash,” she told them before looking at Barry significantly.

“Yeeeesss, I am,” he agreed, looking at Mick and Lisa. “Which is why I’m surprised to see Heatwave and Golden Glider in the Cortex. The only reason. There’s no other reason for me to be surprised,” he said with a nod and a ‘what the hell’ expression at Iris, who winced where Lisa and Mick couldn’t see.

But then her face did something. Something that made the bottom fall out of Barry’s stomach.

She got an idea. Barry looked her over, but she tilted her chin in that way that she did and he stifled a groan.

“Actually, Barry, I think you can help us most of all,” she told him, gesturing for him to join them as Caitlin and Cisco shared a look.

“Um, Iris, are you sure—” Caitlin started, but Iris blinked at her.

“Of course, I’m sure. After all, Barry’s one of The Flash’s closest friends. He knows him better than Cisco, even,” she replied with a smug smile. Cisco closed his eyes and hung his head before shaking it at Iris. Barry joined them despite himself. After all, once Iris got an idea into her head, there was no stopping her. He took a breath and bit the bullet and looked at the board, eyes flying over what was written there, starting with the red writing.

 

  * Didn’t kill Flash despite ample opportunity.
  * Increase of puns since first fight with Flash.
  * Planned diversion heist specifically for Flash instead of adapting actual heist to account for Flash.
  * Agreed not to go after Flash’s friends/family and kept his word
  * Used Flash’s proposed name for his crew—



 

“What the hell is this?” Barry blurted, mouth falling open as he turned to the blue writing and saw a breakdown of his own actions against Leonard Snart there.

 

  * Never used vocal vibration to hide his voice from Cold
  * Went to face Cold and Heatwave as requested instead of using superspeed to search the city for Caitlin
  * Dragged Cold away for private chat instead of stopping all three Rogues
  * Gave Len’s crew a sweet nickname.
  * Went to Snart for help with the metas instead of appearing to officials as the Flash and asking them to help—



 

Barry turned to gape at his friends, who had the decency to look guilty – except for Iris, who looked slightly smug for some reason. Barry was starting to have a little trouble breathing from how hard his heart was beating.

“So, Barry, you know how last night Flash and Cold were making out in a warehouse in south Central City?” she asked, and he blushed.

“Th-that...I, wow. Can’t believe you’re holding that against him. Th—he was _whammied_ , Iris,” he stammered, and she touched his arm, nodding.

“Yes, we know. But we _also_ know it takes a _lot_ longer for Flash to be fully affected by Bivolo’s whammy than most people. Which got me thinking...when he was angry, he snapped at everyone – Cisco, Caitlin, me, Joe,” she listed, shrugging. “But passion and anger aren’t that far removed, so how come the Flash wasn’t hitting on everyone who came within ten feet?” she asked him, blinking with innocent confusion. “I mean, awkward as it is thinking about how he was probably popping awkward and inappropriate boners all day, no one reported any untoward behavior from The Flash,” she said. “That is, until he ran into Captain Cold,” she said. He stared at her, swallowing hard.

There was zero judgment in her eyes, and glancing at Caitlin and Cisco, he could see they were sympathetic and supportive. His heart tightened in his chest at the sudden wave of emotion he felt for them.

“Is that...I mean...what does that have to do with this?” he asked, gesturing at the board.

“It’s not that hard to figure out,” Mick grunted. “Len likes Flash, Flash likes Len. They need to bang it out so things can go back to normal,” he reported bluntly. Barry sucked in a breath and choked on his own spit, coughing while Lisa rolled her eyes and Cisco made a noise of disgust. Iris hid a laugh behind her hand and a cough. Barry hoped the redness caused by his cough covered the blush he’d developed at Mick’s direct assessment.

“That’s—I mean—wow,” he stuttered, swallowing hard and looking at Iris. “Can I talk to you for a minute? We’ll be right back, okay, yeah,” he said, ushering his best friend out of the room with a fake smile and an awkward laugh. As soon as they were out of sight, he dropped the smile and gaped at Iris, who was straightened defensively. He gestured at her, unable to find words. She tilted her head, arching her eyebrows. He floundered in the face of it, aghast at her lack of remorse. “What the _hell_ , Iris,” he hissed.

“Barr, come on. You’ve had it bad for a while. We’re not blind,” she said, watching him shake his head and try to come up with a convincing lie about how he wasn’t at all interested in Captain Cold. “And yes, we were against it at first – for a lot of reasons – but the biggest reason was because we were afraid you would be hurt by loving him. Now that we know he feels similarly, we’re not nearly as against it as we were,” she told him.

“Oh my god, Iris, he _doesn’t_ —”

“Barr, please. Your comms don’t work the way you think they do, and I know way more about your kinks than I want to,” she told him, derailing his ability to do anything other than gape at her like a fish. “It’s okay. Just...come let us prove to you that this is a thing that could happen,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. He stared at her. “Besides, Mick and Lisa don’t know you’re the Flash. It’d be kind of awkward if you just left,” she said. He groaned, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“You’re the worst,” he muttered, and she smirked.

“Aw,” she teased, before linking her arm in his and pulling him back into the room. “Good news, guys: Barry’s on board with Operation: ColdFlash,” she announced. Caitlin and Cisco gaped. Mick grunted. Lisa eyed Barry speculatively in a way that set his hair on end.

 

**

 

Lisa watched ‘Barry’ drag his friend Iris away and folded her arms, eyes narrowing on the doorway they’d disappeared through.

His voice. His build. His eyes.

‘Barry’ was the Flash.

Huh.

And Iris clearly knew, what with how quickly she’d introduced Barry as a ‘friend’ of the Flash – probably to avoid anyone giving his identity away – but she hadn’t sent Barry away. She’d invited him to join them in figuring out how to get Len and the Flash together.

And since Barry _was_ the Flash, they were presenting evidence of Len’s feelings for the Flash – and vice versa – directly to The Flash. Lisa huffed.

Genius.

She glanced at Mick, assessing his expression to see if he’d figured it out, but Mick was looking at Caitlin, who was looking at the board. Lisa took a second to be impressed with Mick’s choices before looking at Cisco, who was looking at her. She tilted her head at him and let a slow smile cross her face as she looked pointedly from him to the door to the empty Flash suit display. She winked at him. He tensed and then sagged, shaking his head in something she chose to read as fond exasperation.

Eventually Iris and Barry came back.

“Good news, guys; Barry’s on board with Operation: ColdFlash,” Iris said, and Barry gaped at her, making a strangled noise.

“Wh—I did _not_ say that. I said I would _listen,”_ he insisted, and Iris scoffed, waving dismissively at him. Mick frowned.

“What’s the matter, you think your guy’s too good for our Len?” he demanded, arms folded as he scowled. Barry blinked, mouth falling open in a way that would _definitely_ appeal to Lisa’s brother, as would the blush that colored his sharp as glass cheekbones.

“What? _No._ No, I don’t think that at all,” he said, and Mick grunted. “I’m just...not sure your evidence is conclusive,” he said lamely. Lisa tilted her head at him.

“You look familiar,” she said, and the moment of panic on his face was delightful before she snapped her fingers with a smirk. “You’re Cisco’s friend from the bar, the night we met,” she said with a wide smile. Cisco rubbed his forehead, glaring at her from just over his fingers, but Barry relaxed considerably and forced a laugh.

“Yeah,” he said. She chuckled, turning back to the board.

“Well, Cisco’s cute friend Barry,” she said, and he blinked at her. “This entire board is filled with evidence that these two knuckleheads should kiss and make out,” she told him, smirking as the blush returned. “But really, you only have to know two things out of all of this,” she said, pointing to two specific bullets, one on either side of the board. “One, my brother is not a toucher. He doesn’t touch people unless he has to. There are only three people on the planet that are allowed to touch my brother for any length of time not specified beforehand. Me, Mick, and Flash. I guarantee you if it had been anyone else whammied by Bivolo last night, my brother would have knocked them out and left them at a hospital,” she said, to the speculative noises and faces of Team Flash, and one of hesitant curiosity on Barry’s.

“And the other thing?”

“What Iris said earlier. Flash could have jumped anyone. He jumped my brother. He’s hot for Cold, and Cold ain’t complaining,” she told him. He considered that, and Mick snorted.

“Not that it matters. He’s not going to do anything about it,” Mick grumbled, and Lisa’s heart gave a sympathetic twitch as a hurt expression crossed Barry’s face almost too fast to be noticed.

Almost.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, arms folding almost unconsciously. Lisa sighed.

“Inferiority complex – and if that leaves this room, my brother’s not the one you’re gonna have to worry about,” she said sharply, glancing at the other three. “He doesn’t think he’s good enough – having Lewis Snart as a father will do that to a person,” she said, looking down at her nails for a second before clearing her throat.

“That doesn’t make any sense. He’s the best thief in Central City,” Barry said. It was a second before he realized everyone was looking at him, and his eyes rolled up a little as he sighed. “Yes, I know that’s a weird argument to make – I’m not wrong,” he said, and Cisco and Caitlin conceded with a few grudging shrugs.

“Sure, he’s the best thief,” Lisa said before shrugging one shoulder. “He’s still a criminal with feelings for Central City’s golden boy,” she countered, and he hesitated. “He thinks his hands are too dirty to touch the Flash and that they’ll never be clean enough,” she added.

For a moment, Barry looked lost, clearly wanting to argue against this truth, but unable to without admitting his identity. She felt for him. She did. Eventually, he sagged, looking at the board.

“So, what do we do, then?” he asked.

“Well, if Leonard Snart isn’t going to step up and make a move, then the Flash will have to,” Iris said, and Lisa smirked at her, nodding approvingly when the reporter glanced her way and then looking at Barry.

“She’s not wrong. It’s up to Flash to save the day again,” she told him. He took a breath, shoulders hunching a little.

“What if we’re wrong?” he asked. “What if Snart doesn’t actually like Flash? The evidence is compelling, but it’s still circumstantial. Maybe Flash likes Snart, but Snart just wants to be nemeses?” he asked.

Oh lord, he was so adorable. If she didn’t like Cisco and Len wouldn’t murder her, Lisa would snap him up so fast. She shrugged.

“Maybe the Flash thinks too much,” she replied. “Len likes the Flash. Pretty sure he wants grow old and adopt puppies and have one of those adorably morbid couple’s headstones with the Flash,” she told him, to his look of mildly disturbed fondness. “But it won’t happen unless Flash makes the first move,” she added.

Barry looked at all of them and then took a deep breath, sighing as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Alright,” he said, gesturing in surrender. “Alright, I’ll...talk to him. The Flash,” he said, glancing at Lisa and Mick. Mick grunted a softly exasperated ‘finally’ and Lisa smiled.

“Thanks, Barry,” she said. He nodded.

 

**

 

The doorbell rang.

Joe looked up from where he was kneading the dough for a bread recipe that Iris had raved about and made noise of annoyance, but glanced at the recipe card propped up against the toaster. Would it be horrible if the kneading was interrupted?

The doorbell rang again. He sighed, grabbing a rag to dry his hands as he headed for the front door, wondering who could possibly be there. Maybe it was Eddie?

Of all the people who could have been standing behind the door, the last person he would have guessed was Leonard Snart.

Central City’s own Moriarty stood on his front porch, carrying a satchel over one shoulder with a bottle of bourbon in his hand, that eternal smarmy smirk on his face. He was dressed down from his usual nefarious parka to a simple black pea coat, black turtleneck sweater, and pants. He didn’t look like he was prepared to rob or murder anyone, but that didn’t mean anything to Joe. Snart had killed with regular guns before Cisco’s invention.

“Detective West,” Snart greeted.

“Cold,” Joe replied, mentally calculating the distance between him and his nearest holster. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Relax, detective; we’re both off-duty. I left the get-up at home – gun too – too conspicuous,” he said, shifting the bag. “I’m here to talk. About Barry,” he said, watching Joe measure the risk of Snart in his house against the need to know what he was talking about. Joe glanced around the street and gritted his teeth in an approximation of a smile.

“Give me one reason I don’t shoot you right here, right now for trespassing,” he ordered. Snart huffed, apparently amused by the death threat.

“Aside from having rung the doorbell and the fact that neither of us are armed, you mean,” he replied, before shifting the bourbon from one hand to the other and digging two fingers into the breast pocket of the coat, eyeing Joe’s sudden tension but saying nothing. He pulled out a folded-up piece of paper and pressed it into Joe’s chest, moving him back far enough from the door to slip into the house. Joe gritted his teeth, closing the door and keeping his eyes on Snart as he unfolded the paper.

He looked it over quickly, following Snart when the thief walked past the living room into the kitchen. He tilted his head at Joe’s attempt to make bread but said nothing, setting his satchel and the bourbon on the other counter by the sink. Then Joe watched him begin to unpack the ingredients for homemade spaghetti from scratch. He stared before looking back down at the paper, which appeared to be an article of some kind.

“What’s this?”

“The results of a test run of a new business model,” Snart replied. Joe blinked at him and then re-read the article, which was about the dismantling of an illegal diamond mining operation that involved the use of child labor via the discovery of ‘new evidence’.

“What new evidence?” he asked.

“A diamond shipment, stored in a Central City warehouse, in pouches in the body cavities of teddy bears – it was very like an eighties cartoon,” Snart said as he opened cupboards until he found what he was looking for and pulled out a large pot and a pan for the sauce.

Joe watched him fill the pot with water and set it to boil, processing this information.

Leonard Snart – master thief, murderer, nefarious pain in the CCPD’s behind – had gone and dismantled a diamond smuggling operation. It didn’t quite track, but there was something about it…

He remembered visiting Snart in Iron Heights with Barry – remembered the speech Barry had given him about having good in him. That had been almost 4 months ago. Two months after, when Snart had broken out with the help of Mardon and Rathaway, Joe had been certain that Barry had been wrong.

Except that Snart had dropped off the face of the Earth and hadn’t so much as stolen a paperclip since then, as far as anyone in the CCPD could tell – and they’d been looking. The Rogues had been all over town, but no one had heard a peep out of Cold and now this.

“Turning over a new leaf, Snart?” he asked, and Snart tilted his head.

“Same leaf, different tree,” he replied cryptically, filling a serving bowl with water and ice and setting it on the counter next to a bag of tomatoes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Joe asked.

“It means there are an intriguing number of legitimate – if shady – enterprises that make use of my particular skill set,” he replied. “Most of it is commission, but then, so was my old gig,” he added, using a knife to score small ‘x’s into the tomatoes before setting them aside and reaching for the green peppers.

“So, Barry was right,” Joe said, shocked. Snart threw him a dubious look over his shoulder.

“Let’s not get carried away,” he said dryly, but Joe was looking at him now, looking hard, and he turned back to deseeding and chopping the green peppers. “This is about survival – adaptation to a change in one’s environment. You can’t beat the Flash – no one can, not for long – but you can make him pay less attention to you,” he said. “This way, Barry can gloat about my going ‘legit’, and I can keep breaking into places for pay,” he added. Joe snorted.

“Snart, if you think ‘proving Barry right’ is how you get him to pay _less_ attention, you’ve got another thing coming,” Joe replied, eyeing Cold’s conceding headshrug with a suspicion he couldn’t place before looking down at the paper. “You said this was a test run,” he commented.

“I did,” Snart replied, putting the chopped peppers into a bowl before reaching up into one of the cupboards and grabbing two glasses.

“And?” Joe asked. Snart tilted his head again as he uncapped the bourbon and poured a finger of it into each of the glasses. He brought one to Joe, who took it with an arched eyebrow.

“It’s no diamond heist, but I don’t hate it, so we’ll see how it goes,” he replied with a smirk, clinking his glass against Joe’s and taking a celebratory sip before turning and going back to the spaghetti. Joe stared, watching Leonard Snart peel and chop four enormous onions, which were set aside in a bowl with the peppers. He looked down at the glass of bourbon Snart had handed him and shook his head. There was a time when being alone in a room with Snart would have chilled him to the bone and made him think of his will. Snart, who had taken his reputation of master thief and added supervillain to it without hesitation; who’d hurt Barry – tried to kill him. This man had left bodies in his wake for almost his entire career, and only _stopped_ because of Barry.

And now, here he was, in Joe’s kitchen...what, celebrating? Because he’d found a way to turn his thieving into a legitimate profession? Joe watched him ladle tomatoes into boiling water, entirely focused on counting out exactly fifteen seconds before ladling them out of the boiling water and into the ice bath and shook his head again.

Leonard Snart was making spaghetti sauce from scratch in his kitchen.

“What are you doing here, Snart?” he asked. Snart didn’t look away from where he was peeling tomatoes.

“I’m wooing your son,” Snart answered succinctly. The statement hit Joe and stunned him for half a second before he could regain his faculties. One hand clenched around the article, and he set the glass of bourbon down on the counter.

“No,” he said. “That ain’t happening,” he stated.

“This is an announcement, not a petition,” Leonard said calmly, grabbing two pot holders from the hanger on the wall and carrying the water pot to the sink, pouring it out and then filling it back up. “Barry and I have been playing a game since our first meeting, and recent events have made it clear that it’s time for that game to come to its inevitable conclusion,” he said, uncapping the avocado oil he’d brought and pouring a healthy amount into the saucepan, turning the heat to medium. Joe felt his face twist in fury and disgust.

“A _game?_ People have _died_ , Snart,” he snapped. Snart hesitated, setting the oil bottle down with a heavy ‘thunk’ on the counter.

“Something I would have considered a perfectly normal consequence of the job before knowing Barry,” he admitted, before turning the heat down on the oil and turning to face Joe, arms folded as he leaned against the countertop. He eyed Joe’s gritted teeth and took a breath. “You met the late Lewis Snart?” he asked. Joe snorted. Snart arched an eyebrow and conceded the opinion with a tilt of his head. “You know he used to take me on some of his business deals?” he asked, to Joe’s uncertain blink. “To ‘teach’ me. Couldn’t find a babysitter I guess,” Snart said, expression unchanging. “I was five when he first killed a man in front of me,” he said. Joe folded his arms too, setting his jaw as Snart spoke. “Told me the guy crossed him, and ‘if someone crosses you, they get a bullet’,” he said. “Next time, I was still five, and it was because someone had lied to him, ‘which is the same as crossing you’. So, apparently, is snitching, stealing, getting in the way, and not paying debts on time, which for Lewis was three days before you were due,” Snart said, with the same half-bored, half-amused expression he always had.

Joe had read Snart, the elder’s jacket; had known that there were bodies linked to him they could never find the proof to pin him to. There’d also been evidence of a partner, but god...Joe had _never_ suspected that Snart would make his five-year-old boy an accomplice to murder.

“I don’t tell you this to garner sympathy, but to illustrate a point – one that also had to be pointed out to me. As much as I hated the man, and I did – the relief I felt after making absolutely sure he could never hurt my sister or I again cannot be measured – I still internalized all of his teachings as a legitimate way to do business. I even used his methods as a base for all of mine. After all, we’re just a product of our raising, aren’t we?” Snart asked, expression entirely too level to be real. “You raised a superhero and a badass. Lewis raised a pair of crooks,” he said.

“Really?” Joe asked, eyebrows raised. “That’s your argument for letting you date Barry? It’s not your fault you were raised by a literal monster?” he asked. Snart tilted his head, eyes dancing in mild amusement at Joe’s assessment of his genetic donor before he snorted.

“I don't ask permission, and if I did, I wouldn't be asking for _yours._ The only person who gets a say about it is Barry,” Snart said. “And in any case, I’m not making any kind of an argument. My _point_ , is that – as an earnest and frustratingly sincere young CSI once pointed out to me – even though Lewis made me what I am, I don’t have to let his poison define my life. I am capable of change, given the right motivation,” he said. Joe narrowed his eyes, but he could feel his hackles settling in the face of what Snart was telling him. Barry was changing Snart for the better, whether he wanted it or not.

“You went from being a thief and murderer on the run to a thief for pay,” Joe pointed out, not quite ready to set aside all the pain and frustration the man had caused him. Snart huffed, closing his eyes for a second before shaking his head and turning back to the stove. He held his hand over the oil and then turned the heat back up.

“I see you don’t believe in baby steps either. Must be where Barry gets it,” he said.

 

**

 

Barry left first, not that Cisco blamed him, and Iris went with him. Lisa dithered a bit while Mick spoke to Caitlin about those tests she’d wanted to run earlier. Cisco was a little distracted making sure Lisa didn’t try to take anything from the Cortex, but Caitlin seemed flustered by the big man. Cisco was considering using his fragile nerd body as a shield for Caitlin when Lisa told Mick they should leave. Mick stormed off pretty fast, growling something at Lisa as he passed her.

Cisco watched them walk away and cursed under his breath as he took a few running steps towards the main entrance of the Cortex.

“Lisa,” he said, and she stopped, looking at him. He sighed, cheek twitching a little before he grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and jotted down a number, handing it to her. She took it, brows furrowed in minor confusion.

“You change your number, Cisco?” she asked, smile playful. He sighed, pressing the thumb of his left hand into the palm of his right, a nervous habit he’d never broken.

“It’s the number for Becca Tybalt. She’s a... therapist,” he told her. She blinked, an edge of hurt to her smile, which was weak on her face now. “She’s been really helpful to me, this past year,” he added, and the hurt bled away into surprise.

“You’re in therapy?” she asked, and his laugh was wry.

“My former boss was an evil, time-traveling speedster who purposely caused the particle accelerator to overload, changing peoples’ lives forever; he killed my best friend’s mom, sent his dad to prison, sicced a giant telepathic gorilla on us, and tried to shove his hand through my chest; and the girl I like was directly responsible for some pretty horrible memories,” he said, shrugging. “Therapy is a _blessing.”_

Lisa blinked, but allowed a fond, if remorseful smile cross her face. Cisco cleared his throat.

“Anyway, you were right, earlier,” he said, and she shook her head, frowning. “Living with Lewis Snart,” he said, shaking his head at her closed off expression. “There’s no way that wasn’t even a little bit damaging. If you...ever wanna talk to someone,” he said, before nodding at the paper. “She’s really good at helping people work through damage,” he offered with a small smile. “Just because this is the only way you know how to be doesn’t mean you couldn’t be someone else if you wanted to. Change is hard, and sometimes you just need a little help,” he added, before walking away.

 

**

 

Len was packing up a portion of the spaghetti when he heard the front door open and Barry call out a greeting to Joe, who narrowed his eyes at Snart as he called back, hovering by the oven where the bread was baking. Len smirked at Joe’s expression and said nothing, packing up what remained of the ingredients with the Tupperware he’d brought before holding the bourbon out to Joe. The detective took it, even as his expression said that he couldn’t be bought. Honestly, Len would have thought less of him if he could.

Barry was still by the door, babbling about what a weird day it had been. Len shouldered his bag, nodded at Joe, and headed for the door, where Barry was untying the laces of his shoes – because of course he didn’t kick them off like a normal person.

“—And then, they tried to tell me that—Len,” Barry blurted, spotting him. His hazel eyes were wide with shock and his mouth was hanging open like an invitation. “What’re you—” he started, glancing back the way Len had come and furrowing his eyebrows at Joe, who was leaning against the wall of the corridor leading to the kitchen.

“Hey, Barry,” Len said with a smile, approaching the gobsmacked speedster. “Everything’s fine, I didn’t steal anything or threaten anyone. Dinner’s in the kitchen,” he added as he drew level with Barry, who was still staring.

Len couldn’t help himself, really – not even with the audience. Before he could talk himself out of it, his hand was reaching out and cupping around the base of Barry’s skull, reeling him in. Len swallowed Barry’s noise of alarmed confusion and delighted in his sharp intake of breath, as well as the way Barry’s lips were pliant under his own, allowing him to sneak a taste of Barry’s mouth before pulling back, completely ignoring Joe’s outraged exclamation.

Barry stared wide-eyed and blushing at Len and his knees wobbled. He took a step back to avoid falling and promptly caught himself on the coat tree, toppling the whole thing – including himself – to the floor. Len blinked down at him, momentarily concerned, before Barry’s noise of abject humiliation and distress brought a smile of fond amusement to his face. He bit a chuckle back until it came out as a huff, shaking his head.

“Be seein’ you, Barry,” he promised, throwing a nod at the thunderous face of Detective West, and stepping out into the evening air with a smile he absolutely could not conceal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the biggest chapter yet, because I'm a horrible person who doesn't outline their stories before posting.  
> Also, there wasn't supposed to be this much plot. Honestly, this was supposed to be a vehicle for smut, but it appears I'm incapable of writing less than 30,000 words. 
> 
> Also, the warnings:  
> Len talks about his dad's 'A+ parenting'  
> Mick exists shirtless in this chapter  
> Cisco is in therapy because of his life
> 
> [minor edits cause I went back and read it to get back in the mindset. There were a couple words missing and I slipped out of Len's voice for half a second, but I fixed it]


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len Plots and Barry is Adorable and Awkward

Len’s good humor had faded by the time he reached the safe house, although not entirely. He’d been listening to what Barry had been saying before making his dramatic exit, and he was both amused and annoyed. Amused that Mick had done exactly as Leonard had assumed he wouldn’t – gone to Team Flash to tell them about Leonard’s attraction to the Flash – and annoyed because Lisa had gotten involved, which means she was going to be insufferable about the whole thing. Still...Barry had almost jumped out of his skin upon seeing Len – surprise like that couldn’t be faked. That meant he’d been told not to expect anything from Len.

He smirked to himself as he put his bike away and made his way up the stairs to the safe house proper.

He found Mick restlessly pacing while Lisa munched on a bowl of cereal at the kitchen table.

“A little birdie told me you two had a busy day,” he greeted, and they looked up at him, sharing a glance before looking back at him.

“What do you mean, Lenny?” Lisa asked, and he favored her with his most unimpressed stare.

“How _is_ Cisco? Still an adorable nerd?” he asked. Lisa scoffed.

“You’re one to talk,” she snapped back, arching her eyebrows and looking him over. “Barry’s cute, I can see why you’d like him,” she said. Len stopped, freezing the expression on his face.

“Who?” he asked, but she just rolled her eyes and shook her head. Mick narrowed his eyes.

“Barry? That Allen kid? I thought you liked the Flash?” Mick said. Both Snarts turned to look at him, and he glanced between Len’s perfectly blank expression and Lisa’s arched ‘are you serious’ eyebrow before his jaw dropped a little. “ _No_ ,” he said, scandalized, and Lisa chuckled while Len took a deep breath, walking over to the kitchen to unpack the rest of his unused ingredients. “ _That_ guy was _The Flash_?” Mick asked, and Lisa hummed in the affirmative, watching Lenny. “I mean, I guess I see it, but...he’s so _awkward_ ,” he went on.

“Thank you, Mick,” Len said pointedly with a look over his shoulder. Mick didn’t look apologetic, because none of them did apologies exactly, but he did stop talking for a second.

“I’m just trying to picture him having the balls to lay one on you after all the insecurity we had to wade through today,” the pyro said eventually. Len scoffed.

“Yes, well; in vino veritas,” he replied. Mick shrugged.

“I guess,” he said, and Len rolled his eyes.

“Now, if you would both please stop interfering with my carefully crafted plans, that would be fantastic,” he said, pouring his portion of the spaghetti he’d made onto a plate and grabbing a fork. He tested a small piece of it and tilted his head. Still a little warm, but it could be warmer. Of all the things he enjoyed cold, food was not one. He put the plate in the microwave for a minute, hovering nearby with his fork as he looked at his two partners.

Lisa narrowed her eyes at him.

“So, you _do_ have a plan?” she asked, and he considered the fork.

“I always do,” he replied.

“Why didn’t you just tell us that?” Mick grumbled. Len raised just his eyes from the fork to his team.

“Because this isn’t a heist, so it’s none of your business,” he replied coolly. Mick snorted.

“When the boss wants to lay the enemy, it’s a little our business,” he said. Lisa made a slightly disgusted face but didn’t disagree.

“Flash isn’t an enemy,” Len argued. Mick threw him a look, but Len’s expression didn’t change. “Especially since we’re officially out of the freelance diamond heist business,” he announced. The looks changed drastically.

“For real?” Lisa asked with a disbelieving frown. Mick folded his arms, his frown intrigued.

“So, you went through with it?” he asked. Lisa glanced sharply at him and then looked at her brother, who arched an eyebrow. Her mouth dropped open and she looked _furious_.

“What the hell?” she demanded, looking at Mick, who looked at her but said nothing. She turned her glare to Len, who held up a finger.

“Don’t shout,” he chided, but she set her jaw.

“Like hell I’m not gonna shout!” she shouted, and he sighed, lowering his hand. “When were you gonna tell _me_ you’re hangin’ up your parka?” she demanded.

“I’m _not_ ,” he cut her off, and she stopped, anger replaced with confusion. He scoffed. “I arranged for Mick and I to get amnesty for our past crimes, and then signed us up for evidence retrieval operations. I still get to steal, Mick still gets to light things on fire, and we both get paid for it,” he told her before looking at Mick. “Yes, I went through with it,” he answered. Mick tilted his head a little.

“And?” he asked. Len shrugged, but it wasn’t a condemnation, so Mick nodded. “Nice.”

“Hold up. Lenny, how the hell did you swing amnesty?” Lisa demanded.

“I had a chat with The Green Arrow. He’s got an in with ARGUS. I needed amnesty, they needed a few things taken care of,” he replied with a shrug that spoke of unsavory dealings and probable murder. Lisa stared.

“Is _that_ where you disappeared for all these weeks?” she gaped. He rolled his eyes.

“I was gone a _week –_ week and a half at best – and _only_ because the Green Arrow is a far more stubborn nut to crack than Flash will ever be,” Len replied. “Took two days and foiling a _robbery_ just to get him to talk to me,” he huffed, before turning to the beeping microwave and retrieving his food. “But it’s done. Amnesty for Me, Mick, and a handful of the Rogues – none for you because you don’t have an official record, but it means keeping your nose clean from here on out. No more Golden Glider,” he told her. She sniffed in a way that meant she was absolutely going to disregard that.  He couldn’t blame her. He could never give up being Captain Cold either. It just wasn’t in him to go totally straight. “Wasn’t able to swing you as an official part of the team, but I figure ARGUS won’t mind if I contract out small parts of a job here and there, so you’ll still get your cut,” he told her. She rolled her eyes.

“As if it was ever about the money,” she sniped, before looking him over. “What does Barry think about this?” she asked, and he didn’t answer, twirling some noodles around his fork and shoving the entire thing into his mouth. Lisa groaned. “You haven’t told him,” she guessed, glaring at him. He let her stew in her frustration as he chewed his food and didn’t answer till his mouth was clear.

“I haven’t told him _yet_. C’mon, sis, you know me. Have I ever blabbed about a plan I hadn’t figured out at least eighty percent of beforehand?” he chided. She tsked at him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to eat where I won’t be scolded anymore, and then I have more planning to do,” he said, carrying his plate out of the room.

Out of sight behind his bedroom door, he took a moment to look back in the direction of Mick and his sister, shaking his head with an exasperated smile. It was heartwarming that they wanted to help, for all that they hadn’t been invited to. As much as he emphasized the partnership aspect of their ties to each other in conversation, they were as much a family as Team Flash was – albeit more dysfunctional.

They cared.

They worried.

All of them did – him too.

He shook his head and turned back to his room, and the smaller version of his planning table that he had stowed there. He’d have to double check everything to account for the new variables, but his plans should still be viable. He might even be able to remove a few steps to speed things along, since it was clear now that the attraction between Barry and himself was mutual.

He had a feeling Barry didn’t just fall over for anyone who kissed him.

He smiled at his food, sitting at the table and looking over his plans.

He set aside the arrangements for the race track – that could always come later.

He also set aside the idea of the skating rink – let it never be said he wasn’t one for compromise.

He focused on the high society event happening at the pretentiously titled The Gallery. It was something he'd been planning regardless of his intentions towards Barry Allen, but he was nothing if not an opportunist, and it would be _easy_ to alter just a few things to suit both of his purposes. Plus, now that Joe West was aware of said intentions, The Gallery would be all the more annoying to the stalwart detective.

Three birds.

One stone.

He leaned back in his chair and smiled.

He’d always been something of an overachiever.

 

**

 

Barry stayed on the floor, wanting to die.

Len had kissed him.

Len had _kissed_ him.

And he’d fallen over.

Like a goddamn goober.

“Barry,” Joe said, and Barry groaned, covering his face with his hands as he curled up into a ball of shame.

_Joe._

Joe had seen Len kiss him and watched him fall over.

“Barry,” Joe said again, slightly exasperated.

“Barry isn’t here right now. Please leave a message at the dying whale,” Barry said, before making a sound into his knees that approximated the depth of his embarrassment. Joe snorted. 

“ _Barry_ ,” Joe insisted, and Barry sighed. “You gonna get up off the floor anytime soon? Or were you planning to wallow here the entire night?” Joe asked.

“I don’t know, wallowing sounds kind of good right now,” Barry said, cheeks still burning.

How come he can only be smooth when he’s whammied?

Len had kissed him, and he just stood there, like a _fish_.

God, Len’s mouth was so _warm,_ and it tasted like—

“Alright, you lay there then. I guess I’ll just eat all this homemade spaghetti by myself,” Joe said, walking away. Barry moved his hands back from his face and blinked at nothing for half a second before Flashing into the kitchen, where he stared at the pot sitting on the still warm stove.

Spices. Len’s mouth had tasted like spices. Like the kind you cook with.

Len cooks. Len tastes his own cooking to see if it’s right.

Barry’s chest was very warm, imagining Len stirring the sauce and then raising the spoon to his lips to see if it was missing anything. It was way too easy for the image to slide into one where Len was holding the spoon out to Barry instead—

“Len cooks?” he asked Joe, eyes wide, cheeks red. Joe looked at him for a long minute before rolling his eyes up to the ceiling and raising a hand to rub over his face.

“ _Barry,_ ” he started, sighing. “You know he’s a _criminal_ , right?” he asked, and Barry quashed the surge of defensiveness that rose up in his chest at the question, unconsciously smoothing a hand down his sternum.

“Yeah. Yes. Yeah, I know. I mean, I also know he hasn’t done anything all that criminal since Mardon and Jesse broke him out. And that he came to warn me personally about what they were planning,” he added, to Joe’s vague annoyance which looked more like exasperation. Barry sighed. “I know he has a past. A hard one. I know he didn’t get a fair start. I also know that’s not what he wanted to be in the beginning; that he was trapped by actions he wouldn’t have made if it weren’t for who raised him. I think the only reason he’s still a thief is because no one was willing to believe that he could change,” Barry said, staring imploringly at Joe. “Except I _do_. _I_ believe he can be something else – something _better_. I _believe_ that he deserves the second chance he was never given,” he said, before sighing, shoulders slumping slightly. “Now I just have to convince _him_ of that,” he added, running his hand over his hair as he turned his eyes back to the pot on the stove. His blush started to rise again.

Leonard Snart made spaghetti in his house.

Wait.

Barry’s eyes narrowed at the pot and then turned to Joe, who looked resigned.

“I think you might have succeeded on that last bit,” Joe said, before sniffing. “Partially. Some. A little,” he added. Barry stared.

“Len made spaghetti,” he stated. Joe conceded this with a slight head shrug. “And you _let_ him,” Barry added, surprised. Joe rolled his eyes.

“He wanted to talk to me, and he hijacked my kitchen,” Joe corrected. Barry stared at him open-mouthed and narrow-eyed for a minute and then closed his mouth, turned, and went to the plate cupboard. He dished himself up a healthy serving of the spaghetti and eagerly shoved a forkful of spun noodles into his mouth.

“Oh my god,” he moaned through a mouthful of food.

Len had used some sort of spiced sausage and beef for the meat, and the sauce... Barry closed his eyes and savored it before shoveling more of it into his mouth.

“This is amazing,” he said with a slight giggle, heart pounding lightly in his chest.

“Yeah, well, there’s gonna be bread too in about ten minutes,” Joe said, and Barry stopped mid-chew, looking at Joe with wide, kid-in-a-candy-store eyes.

“Did Len make that too?” he asked. Joe folded his arms.

“No, _I_ did,” he snapped lightly, and Barry had the decency to duck his head and look apologetic before Joe took a deep breath and sighed. “He helped,” he amended with clear reluctance, and Barry’s eyes widened again. “God, kid, you sure can pick ‘em,” he said, and Barry’s shrug was sheepish, even as he was unable to keep the smile from his face, finishing off his first plate and dishing out a second helping. “Don’t look so happy – we’re gonna talk about you dating your villains,” he said, pointing an authoritarian finger at his foster son. Barry tried to look appropriately shamed and failed.

“It’s just the one villain?” he offered with a shrug.

“Just the o— _one_ is enough, Barry,” Joe chided. Barry sighed.

“Okay, sure, but you said you think I succeeded in getting him to believe he can stop being a criminal, so if he’s not a criminal then he’s not a villain and it won’t be a problem?” Barry said, clearing enough food from his mouth to smile hopefully. Joe scratched his cheek with his thumbnail and shook his head.

“Wow. Those are some rose-colored glasses you’re wearing, Barr,” he said. “Look, he doesn’t want me to tell you what we talked about because he’s planning to tell you himself – and god knows why, but I’m respecting those wishes,” he grumbled, before pointing at Barry. “But don’t get ahead of yourself. Snart is a thief, and he has _no_ intentions of being anything else,” he said. Barry frowned for half a second before his eyes lit up in a way that confused Joe.

“Oh my god, is he gonna be a security contractor?” he blurted, and Joe blinked, head jerking back.

“ _What_?”

“Okay, so I was actually going to bring it up with him at some point, but like, he could _totally_ be one of those guys that tests security measures for places like Central City museum or banks or research facilities,” Barry said. Joe sighed, rubbing his face. “What? It’s a totally legitimate business enterprise, and former thieves do it all the time,” Barry said defensively. Joe held up a hand and waved away the rest of whatever it was Barry was going to say.

“I’m gonna let you have that conversation with Snart,” he said, and Barry hesitated for a moment before nodding.

“Okay,” he said, shrugging a little.

“Let’s talk about that kiss instead,” Joe said, eyes narrowing. Barry almost choked on his food before swallowing it in one huge lump, face red.

“Let’s not,” he croaked, setting his plate on the counter and starting to walk away.

“Bartholomew Henry Allen,” Joe said, and Barry froze, shoulders hunching as he looked at Joe like a hunted animal. “When exactly were you going to tell me that you and Leonard Snart were on _kissing_ terms?” Joe demanded, folding his arms. Barry’s face contorted weirdly at the direction the conversation had taken, but Joe waited him out.

“It’s...a recent development?” Barry said, the blush returning. Joe stared at him, eyes narrowed, but there was something about his behavior and the tension in his shoulders, the way he sighed and sild his hands into his back pockets and looked like he’d rather be anywhere else but there. It reminded him of...oh sweet lord.

“You kissed Leonard Snart while you were whammied,” he said, and Barry made a face that was part pain, part feigned shock. Joe dropped his head into his hand and kneaded his forehead.

“I— _what?_ That’s...that’s crazy talk. Do you even hear your—”

“Barry,” Joe said, shaking his head where it was still buried in his palm.

“Okay, yeah, but you gotta believe me, Joe, nothing actually happened,” Barry said, his expression earnest when Joe lifted his head and gaped at him.

“Nothing ha—Snart _kissed_ you while you were whammied!” Joe snapped. Barry winced, shoulders sagging as he sighed.

“Actually, you had it right the first time,” he corrected. Joe shook his head and gestured at nothing, at a loss for words. Barry scrubbed his hands over his face and searched for words to explain in a way that would be the least traumatizing for both of them. “I’d been feeling... _off_...all day. It’d been really bizarre. I mean, forget me telling Eddie he _smelled_ nice, I complimented the Captain’s _tie pin_ ,” he said, and Joe fought hard against the amusement from that particular reminder. Barry made a face at him. “I got caught up on Cisco’s techno-babble for like twenty minutes. I caught myself staring at Caitlin’s lip gloss, it was all very weird and very uncomfortable,” he explained with an only slightly exaggerated shudder. Joe snorted at his understatement and Barry rolled his eyes. “And then Cisco’s cold gun alert went off, so I went to see what Len was up to. And when I got there, I—” he broke off, blushing. “I don’t know, it was just...he was _so_...and I didn’t even really think about it after that, I just...kissed him,” he said with a shrug, before a smile crept onto his face despite himself. “And he kissed me back. And it was _incredible_ ,” he said, before clearing his throat at the look on Joe’s face. “And then he figured out I’d been whammied, and he...called the team to come de-whammy me,” he said, looking at the ground and rubbing the back of his neck in a way that spoke volumes of conflicted disappointment.

Joe stared at him.

“That’s it?” he probed, and Barry shrugged, sighing.

“Honestly, Joe, I was the only one being remotely inappropriate. If it hadn’t been for Len, who knows what I would have done eventually,” he said with a shudder that brought the mood down a little. “And...” he hunched his shoulders a little, defensively. “I’m not sorry,” he said, shaking his head when Joe narrowed his eyes. “That it happened. _Especially_ if this is the result of that,” he added, gesturing to the spaghetti. “I mean, I’ve...thought about it before: Me and Len. What we could be, if we were ever on the same side,” he confessed. Joe gave a long, drawn out sigh as he rubbed his face before looking at Barry’s stubborn expression.

He was quiet for almost a minute before lifting his hand from his face in a gesture of surrender, and Barry blinked at him.

“I’m not going to argue,” he said, and Barry’s eyebrows shot up on his head in obvious shock, making Joe glare. “I know you. When you want something, you tend not to listen to anyone who argues against it – in fact arguing just makes you want the thing ten times more,” he grumbled, to Barry’s abashed blush. “I’m just going to say this one thing: people aren’t going to forget who Captain Cold is just because his fingerprints are no longer available for identification,” he said. “The families of the people he killed aren’t going to forget, and the CCPD isn’t going to forget. You need to understand this, Barry – he’s not going to give up being a thief for you. You’re going to have to get your head around the fact that eventually, he will slip up, and eventually he will go to prison again. And you’re a CSI for the CCPD – I need you to prepare for the possibility that a crime scene you process may be what gives us the evidence to put him away,” he said, looking Barry in the eye to make sure he understood. Barry’s shoulders slumped, and his brow furrowed unhappily, but he nodded.

“I know,” he said, looking down at the floor for a moment. “Yeah. I know. And I would do it,” he said, looking back at Joe. “I know I’ve...made questionable decisions before; when I wanted to get Eddie out, after he’d been framed, trusting Wells...but I promise I wouldn’t compromise an investigation just to keep Len out of prison,” he said. Joe looked at his foster son and wanted to believe.

But Barry acted from the heart, and Joe could never be certain that circumstances wouldn’t arise that would have Barry doing just about anything to keep someone he cared for out of prison – especially after what happened with Henry.

The timer went off and Joe looked away, grabbing the pot holders so he could retrieve the bread from the oven. The crust was perfectly brown, and it smelled amazing, and Joe didn’t even have it in him to be annoyed that Leonard Snart helped him make this. All he wanted was to smother it in butter and go to town.

“Wow, that smells great!” Barry said, grabbing his plate. Joe huffed, but got to slicing.

“How about you plate up some spaghetti for your old man and we can talk about this other stuff later,” he conceded, and Barry smiled.

 

**

 

Eddie was home when Iris got there, and she was pleasantly surprised to see more roses in Eddie’s hands as he stood in front of the dining room table, Chinese take out already plated and under little glass domes to keep them warm. He looked up at her with sorrowful blue eyes, and she melted.

“Babe,” she started, and he sighed, moving towards her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and she blinked, taking the roses when he handed them over and holding them to her chest. “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did,” he added, shaking his head. “I _want_ Barry to be happy – I do. He’s my friend too, now, and I want him to have what I have; a healthy, loving relationship with an amazing person,” he said. Iris continued to melt, putting a hand to his cheek as she stared adoringly at him. “I was just...concerned. I didn’t mean to make it a fight. I’m sorry,” he said again. She stroked a thumb over his cheek and smiled.

“I’m sorry, too,” she replied. “I shouldn’t have gotten so defensive about it. It’s just...Barry hasn’t shown this kind of an interest in someone since he was pining after _me_ all those years and I got a little carried away,” she said with a wince. Eddie just smiled down at her, his hand coming up to hold hers against his cheek. “And yeah, the Captain Cold thing is complicated – so complicated,” she said, rolling her eyes a little and then smiling at his huff of agreement. “But I mean, Barry’s the Flash, so any of his relationships were going to be complicated anyway,” she offered. He huffed again, squeezing her hand and then interlacing their fingers.

“Tell me about it,” he said with a wider smile.

“I’m sorry I got ahead of myself. Too excited,” she said. “Forgive me?” she asked, and he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her waiting lips.

“Always,” he replied. “Do you forgive me for being an ass?” he asked, and she kissed him back.

“Of course, I do,” she said.

They kissed for a minute before Eddie smiled down at her, utterly besotted.

“Hungry?” he asked. She grinned.

“Famished.”

“Good. I got Mama Chow’s, and I sprang for extra Lo Mein and Egg rolls,” he said. Iris gave a gasp of delight before biting her lip and devouring him with her eyes.

“God, I love you,” she said. He smiled giddily and held her hand all the way to the dining room. “I have so much to tell you about today. You’re not going to believe it,” she told him with a grin.

 

**

 

Sunday passed in a blur for Barry, spent at STAR labs working on his abilities and _not_ talking about their schemes regarding his love life. He had lunch with Eddie and Iris, which was great except for how Eddie took a break in the middle to assure him that Eddie would have his back about his relationship with Snart – how he hadn’t gotten it really, at first, but how Iris had explained it to him, and now he understood. Iris had looked sheepish when Barry turned his stunned and accusatory eyes to her, but he’d stammered out a thanks to Eddie, who’d slapped him lightly on the back with a pleased smile. Thankfully it hadn’t come up again, and he was able to escape lunch without being too traumatized.

He spent most of the day trying not to think about the way Len kissed him.

He was...unsuccessful.

He’d already wiped out on the treadmill twice, and thanked God for his incredible healing abilities. Broken fingers had not been fun.

It was almost torture, the way memories of Len’s mouth on his, or the taste of Len’s skin invaded his thoughts. Cisco had been giving him weird looks and Caitlin wouldn’t look him in the eye, and he’d already taken two bathroom breaks to deal with his pent-up frustration – like that helped.

It didn’t.

At all.

The only thing it did was drive Barry crazy thinking about when he’d get to see Len next. He had to stop himself from hoping that Len would hit a bank just so Barry could Flash in and stop him.

And then Cisco’s cold gun alert went off.

Barry felt guilty for about three seconds before grabbing the suit and Flashing out of the Cortex to the address Cisco had gotten. The universe did not respond to insincere hopes. He would just have to hope he could talk Len out of whatever it was he had planned.

 

**

 

Len’s Sunday had passed in a haze of anticipation, distracting himself with various other machinations and communiques from his new employer and ignoring the significant looks from Mick and Lisa for almost an hour before sending them away. Lisa would no doubt find a way to corner Mr. Ramon, and Mick would find himself a nice abandoned building to set things on fire in, and they would both be out of the way of Len’s planning.

When six o’clock finally rolled around, Len smirked and set about his preparations – shower, shave. Cologne? Hm, maybe not. It didn’t seem terribly necessary.

He wore a sweater sans turtleneck, leaving his numerous, slowly healing hickies on full display. He smirked all the way through strapping on his specially tailored holster, donning his parka, his gloves, his goggles. He made sure he had the rest of what he needed as well, small silver case sitting innocuously by the door. He grabbed it and made his way down to his motorcycle.

The valet looked uncertain as he pulled up, but Len only smiled politely and held out his keys, waiting for the valet to give him his ticket. Watched him glance at the gun strapped safely in its holster and avoid looking Len directly in his eyes.

“Careful with the bike, it’s a personal favorite,” he said, before accepting his ticket and turning away. He could hear the audible sigh of relief behind him and smirked.

“This is a private event,” said the man at the door, dressed in a smart tux and looking down at Leonard’s parka. Len pulled his ticket out of his parka’s inner pocket, along with a few hundred-dollar bills, folded lengthwise along the edge of them. The man looked at the money, and gave Len a closer inspection, eyes stalling on the cold gun strapped to his leg before darting back to Len’s face. Len smirked.

“Relax, Jeeves. Just here for the art,” he said, smirk widening a little when the man took the tickets, his expression saying he was _not_ relieved to hear it. Len didn’t miss how he pocketed the money, but said nothing when the man handed Len back his ticket.

“Apologies, sir. Tickets are accepted by the hostess, right though the main entrance,” he said tightly, and Len shrugged.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied. “My plus one is showing up later. Don’t give him any grief – he dresses stranger than _I_ do,” he added before sliding past him through the open doors. He smirked.

His presence did not go unnoticed – a parka in a room full of tuxes and evening gowns. Everyone turned to look at him at least once, but no one said anything. There was a tense moment where he thought someone might scream, but his educated judgment of high society’s reluctance to cause a scene won out in the end. People spoke in hushed tones to each other, but ultimately did nothing.

He looked to his left as a smartly dressed attendant approached, her eyes fearfully lowered as she reluctantly approached.

“May I take your coat, sir?” she asked, and then held her breath. He tilted his head at her.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asked, and she swallowed audibly.

“V-Vallerie,” she answered. He nodded.

“Vallerie. Thank you, Vallerie,” he said, tucking his goggles into the inner pocket before shrugging off his coat. She blinked at him, but he smiled politely, and she took the parka, folding it over one arm, and then accepting the gloves as well. “And if you wouldn’t mind, Vallerie,” he said as she turned to go. She looked at him, shoulders tense, but he just held up the silver case. “Is there somewhere you can keep this until I need it? I don’t like to carry this much money around, normally, and I want to be able to browse freely without it burning a hole in my pocket,” he said with a charming smile. She blinked at him, blushed a little, and nodded.

“A-absolutely, sir,” she said, accepting the case. “I’ll make sure it’s kept safe for you,” she told him. He inclined his head and she scurried off, leaving him standing there, dressed in his black pants, fitted black sweater, and his cold gun. He turned back to the gallery, where people immediately began to avoid his gaze. A server, nervous but dedicated to the performance of their duties, approached with a tray of chilled champagne glasses and he smiled, peeling a hundred-dollar bill from the folded-up bundle in his pocket and leaving it on the tray before taking a glass. The server wandered away with a dumbstruck expression and he huffed to himself before turning to make his predetermined circuit through the gallery’s displays.

Twenty minutes in, with everyone giving him a ten-foot berth aside from a few brave or complacent individuals and the attentive serving staff, Len stopped in front of a six by five canvas, eyes poring over the detail as he sipped his champagne. He’d been studying it for almost five minutes before he reached down and activated the cold gun’s arctic generator, knowing full well – thanks to his sister – that in a matter of moments, Cisco would receive an alert due to the sudden, localized drop in temperature.

“Do you like it?” a sultry voice asked, and he turned his arched eyebrow to see The Gallery’s curator, Lysandra Kostopoulos. She looked understandably nervous, but also like she smelled a sale. He huffed a little and looked back at the canvas.

“It’s compelling,” he admitted, allowing the curator to settle near him. “I’d be interested to hear the artist’s thoughts on its conception,” he added. The curator gave a slight, wry chuckle.

“It might be difficult to convince him. He’s relatively new on the artist circuit. I am afraid you would frighten him off,” Lysandra replied. He conceded the notion but shrugged.

“I promise to be a total gentleman,” he said, pinning the curator with a meaningful look. She studied him for a moment and then inclined her head in acquiescence.

“I will see if I can convince him,” she replied, before backing away. He admired her ability to seem totally at ease while keeping him in her sights, and turned back to the painting, finishing the last of his champagne. He smiled when the server from before appeared at his elbow with the tray, allowing him to deposit his empty glass before taking a new one and then gliding away as though he were nothing but another rich attendee in need of libation.

He checked his watch.

Forty-five seconds. The cold gun should be triggering the alert any second now.

“Hi,” said an unsteady voice, and he turned, surprised to see a young man in his late teens. Behind him, not far away and looking grim-faced about this meeting, were a rough looking man and a pale woman. They looked deeply uncomfortable – both with the situation, and the clothes they were wearing. Catapulted into an unfamiliar social sphere by their son’s talent. He allowed his surprise to show on his face as he looked the young man over.

“Hello,” he greeted. The kid cleared his throat.

“I’m Connor,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Connor. I’m Leonard,” Len replied. The kid nodded.

“Um, yeah. I know. I mean, I watch the news sometimes, and...yeah,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Relax, Connor, I’m not going to ice you for immortalizing me on canvas,” Len said, slight amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. Connor let out a sigh that was pure relief and Len allowed himself to chuckle. “How old are you, kid?” he asked.

“I’m...gonna be seventeen next week,” Connor replied.

“Happy birthday,” Len said. “How long have you been painting?”

“Um...as long as I can remember? I actually don’t remember the first time I held a brush. My mom and dad have all these abstract color canvases at home that I apparently painted when I was a baby, so, I mean, always, I guess,” Connor said abashedly. Len nodded.

“It’s always nice when parents support their child’s talents,” he said, hiding the bitterness of that statement as he looked past Connor to his parents, who were still looking like they would throw themselves at him if he made a single wrong move towards their son. He turned back to the painting.

There was a rush of air and a prickle of static and Len smirked down at his champagne glass but didn’t immediately turn, watching the shock and then recognition bloom on Connor’s face.

“Captain Cold,” Flash said firmly, vocal chords buzzing to hide his real voice. Len turned finally, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of champagne. He could barely make out the hesitation in Barry’s frame as the Scarlet Speedster took in his lack of ‘formal’ Captain attire, the drink, the relaxed demeanor, the purple reminders of their make-out session painted on his neck. He took another slow drink and let his eyes drag down and then up Barry’s blurred form.

“Flash,” he said, his tone intimate, and reminiscent of the night before last. Through the blur he could see Flash shift uncertainly, looking around at everyone. Len tilted his head. “You’re late. Almost thought you weren’t gonna show,” he said, turning back to the painting. Barry looked around again and then cautiously approached Len, looking him over.

“Len, what are you doing here?” he asked in a low, confused voice. Len pasted on a look of innocence.

“Me? I’m discussing the possible interpretations of this piece with the artist. Flash, this is Connor. Connor, this is the Flash,” Len said. Barry looked at Connor, who was gaping at the Flash and trying (and failing) not to grin.

“ _Cool_ ,” Connor said, and Len turned a smug smirk to Barry, who was looking between them.

“Isn’t he, though,” Len said to Connor’s enthusiasm, as Barry finally turned his eyes to the painting. Len kept his eyes on Barry, and so was one of the few people who saw the moment when he was so shocked that he stopped blurring. Len’s smirk only deepened, and he glanced around for a moment until he caught the eye of one of the servers, nodding his head towards Barry, who was staring wide-eyed at the canvas, mouth agape. The server carried the full tray of drinks over to Barry, who blinked at them for a moment before taking one – to be polite, most likely. Barry didn’t drink his champagne, only held it as he went back to staring at the painting.

It was a little like a movie poster for an action film, in a way.

Len was shooting something off the right side of the canvas with his cold gun, his whole body leaning in to the action – stance wide, arms straight, torso leaning towards his arms. The hood of his parka was back, face only partially obscured by his goggles. At his back, Flash was plucking bullets out of the air – bullets meant for Captain Cold. There were phantom hands – blurred after-images of hands moving too fast – on Flash’s side of the painting, and his face was set with the same determination mirrored on Captain Cold’s face.

These weren’t two enemies facing off, these were partners having each-others’ back.

Len glanced at Barry out of the corner of his eye and was pleased to see that Barry had drifted closer.

“It’s amazing work, Connor,” Len said, seeming to snap Barry out of his stupor.

“It is,” he agreed, before clearing his throat. When he spoke again, his vocal chords were vibrating again, masking his voice. “It’s really, really good,” he said with a nod. Connor made a weird noise and swallowed hard, blushing with pride from the praise.

“I see Connor’s work has gathered a crowd,” came the voice of the curator. Len turned to see her approaching them with a smile that was polite, edging on displeased, and he arched an eyebrow at the way that she was looking at Barry – as though he were some unwanted riff raff. It gave Len a moment of vertigo before he remembered that he’d come here with a case full of money, and Flash didn’t even have a ticket. “I wasn’t aware that the gallery had opened this event to the public,” she said, before tilting her head at Flash, who was out of his depth, and looked it. “But I’m certain you have your invitation,” she said, pointedly.

Barry’s jaw dropped, and he blinked a few times. Len let him start to stutter out an apology before he turned to Lysandra, looking at his drink rather than look at her immediately.

“As I understand it, each of the tickets includes a plus one,” he reminded her, and she arched an eyebrow.

“They do,” she replied, her tone questioning what that fact had to do with The Flash invading her event.

He lifted his eyes to hers – Cold eyes – and gestured significantly towards Barry with his glass.

“The Flash is my plus one,” he told her.

Connor gasped and his hands went up to his mouth, eyes wide with excitement.

Barry dropped his glass.

He caught it a half second later, but still.

Lysandra looked Len over, and he showed her his business smile. She eyed it warily, but was smart enough to figure out when to leave well enough alone.

“My apologies,” she replied, smiling much more warmly at Flash, whose eyebrows pulled together a little in insulted disappointment. “Welcome to The Gallery, Flash,” she greeted.

“Thank you,” Barry replied politely. Len glanced at him, catching the small, confused nod that Barry threw his way as well. He didn’t look away as he took another long sip of his champagne, and wondered if it was just his wishful thinking that Barry’s cheeks looked a little redder at the eye contact.

The only thing surprising about the low whine of sirens that were becoming audible outside was how long it had taken someone to call nine-one-one. Perhaps the presence of the Flash had emboldened them. In any case, it was about damn time. Flash looked towards the door, and then back at Len, who was unconcerned as turned towards Connor.

“I like your style, kid. I believe in encouraging talent, too,” he said, to Connor’s mild confusion and concern. He’d heard the sirens too, and assumed – correctly – that they were for Captain Cold. Len looked at Lysandra. “How much?” he asked.

Flash dropped his drink again, almost not catching it this time before finally taking a drink of it.

“This particular work is worth twenty thousand dollars,” Lysandra informed him. Barry choked a little behind him, but Len took in her professional smile, and the confusion on Connor’s face, and huffed a little to himself, smiling knowingly at Lysandra as he nodded.

“I’ll take it,” he said, winking at Connor, whose eyes were as wide as they could be. “Shall we continue this at the front desk? I’ll need a receipt,” he added.

 

**

 

Barry watched Len saunter to The Gallery Reception area with the curator, Connor, and Connor’s parents, stopping to touch the elbow of a young woman named ‘Vallerie’ who he asked to retrieve his effects.

His effects apparently included a case full of money.

Leonard Snart had come to The Gallery with money.

To buy a painting.

Legally.

A painting of them.

Together.

Fighting together.

Barry watched Len sign all the paperwork and then smile charmingly at Vallerie when she brought him his coat, gloves, and the case.

“Here you are, sir,” Vallerie said, still slightly nervous to be addressing _the_ Captain Cold. Len accepted his belongings with a softer version of his Cold smirk.

“Thank you, Vallerie. Wait right there a minute,” he told her, and she blinked at him but folded her hands together to wait. Len set the case on the counter as Lysandra filled out most of her portion of the receipt. The case, when Len opened it, was indeed full of money – twenty stacks of fifty-dollar bills – and Barry couldn’t help wondering which of Len’s bank heists this batch had come from. It also had a twelve by eight manila envelope that Len pulled out and set aside, ignoring everyone’s curiosity.

Barry watched him push five stacks casually towards Lysandra, who arched an eyebrow.

“That should cover tax. Call the rest of it a donation,” he told her, while Barry tried not to swallow his tongue. Then he watched Len pull out a stack and toss it lightly to Vallerie, who caught it against her chest and gaped at him. “Invest wisely,” he said with a smirk, and she sputtered some thanks before retreating to put it somewhere for safekeeping. Barry watched her go and then looked at Len, who looked very pleased with himself as he winked at Barry before closing up the case and then holding it out to Connor. “That’s for you. Buy yourself some more art supplies, or a studio, or whatever,” he said. Connor accepted the case with a stunned look.

“Captain Cold likes my art,” he said dumbly, hugging the case to his chest, and Len chuckled before looking at Lysandra, who was signing the receipt. She put it in front of Connor, who added his own signature with a slightly trembling hand, and then passed it to Len, who signed his spot and then passed it back.

“Congratulations on your purchase,” Lysandra said, separating one of the photo-copy sheets and handing it to him. He accepted it with a pleased smirk.

“Thanks,” he said before turning and holding the receipt out to Barry, who blinked. “Be a dear, Scarlet, and go show that to the nice policemen waiting outside,” he said, smirk widening on his face. Barry looked from the receipt to Len and tried to ignore the flurry of conflicting emotions tangling up his gut.

“Did you plan this?” he asked, even as he took the paper from Len, who folded his hands together and lounged against the counter, eyeing Barry.

“Doesn’t sound like me,” he lied, and Barry started to sputter before glancing at the other people standing nearby and gritting his teeth and setting the champagne down on the counter.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, before speeding away. Outside, Barry stopped in front of Captain Singh, Joe, and Eddie, who startled a little at his sudden presence, but relaxed almost immediately.

“Flash,” Singh said, looking him over. “I assume you’ve already apprehended Captain Cold? We were told he was in there with his Cold gun,” the Captain said, and Barry took a breath before slumping a little.

“Actually,” he started, making sure to buzz his vocal chords. “I mean, he’s in there, but...” he hesitated before shrugging bewilderedly and presenting the receipt.

They blinked at it.

They looked at him.

He shrugged, just as stunned as they were.

“He bought a painting,” Singh said, his tone shifting quickly from disbelief to fury.

“Apparently, he doesn’t own a tuxedo,” Flash offered with a shrug. “Someone called the cops?” he guessed, looking at Eddie and Joe, who nodded. “Except that he purchased a ticket, and he’s been in there, drinking champagne and eating canapes and being...a guy looking at art,” he said. “Anyway, he asked me to give that to you so that you wouldn’t shoot him when he came out, because technically he’s done nothing illegal,” he said. Singh leaned back a little before rolling his eyes and looking at Joe.

“Pack it up,” he said, and Joe set about dispersing the other policeman.

Almost as soon as the squad cars began to roll out, the door of The Gallery opened and Leonard Snart strolled out, goggles perched on his forehead as he jogged down the steps and then _sauntered_ over to where the police captain, Eddie, and Joe were still waiting. Flash shifted his weight awkwardly, glancing between Len and the cops.

“I said I’d be right back,” he said, and Len smirked at him.

“I know, but you were taking so long, and I got lonely,” Len teased, to Barry’s sputtered speechlessness, before turning to the lingering policemen. “Captain,” he said, the smirk still in his voice. Barry closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Captain,” Singh replied to Len’s pleased smirk. Len looked around at the departing vehicles with feigned interest.

“I certainly hope you didn’t go to all this trouble just for me,” he said, eyeing Singh’s frustration. “Still, as long as you’re here,” he added, before presenting the manila envelope. “These are for you,” he said. Singh looked him over before snatching the envelope from Snart’s unresisting fingers.

“What is this?” Singh asked, and Len folded his arms.

“Those are my amnesty papers,” he reported.

 

**

 

Singh stared at him.

West took a deep breath and rolled his eyes.

Thawne gaped.

Barry choked on air and had a two second coughing fit.

“Amnesty papers,” Singh repeated, eye twitching. Len arched a single eyebrow.

“That’s right. Amnesty papers – for myself, Mick Rory, Shawna Baez, and Hartley Rathaway. I have copies if those get lost on the way to records,” he said. Singh gave him a dirty look. “Regardless, those papers guarantee that the four of us are legally absolved of all crimes committed prior to eight days ago, despite any hard feelings that may remain,” he added, glancing at Barry, who was staring at him, so stunned he was no longer blurred at all. He let himself observe the fetching picture that was a gobsmacked Barry Allen before turning back to the police, who looked like they wanted to throw things. “And now, since The Flash has so graciously shown you the receipt of my hundred-percent-legal purchase, I’ll be on my way,” he said, with an inclination of his head. “Speaking of the Flash,” he said, turning to look at Barry. “The Gallery’s delivery schedule’s a little slow, and I was hoping to admire my piece _tonight_ ,” he said, tilting his head. “I hear you’re fond of helping people – how about you help me out, Scarlet?”

Barry stared at him, obviously taken aback at having been asked to be a delivery boy for a notorious criminal – even one who’d been pardoned – in front of three policemen he respected and whose respect he valued. He watched Barry flick his gaze to Joe for barely a second as his cheeks burned red as his suit.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said eventually, and Flashed away. Len closed his eyes briefly to enjoy the prickle of static and the rush of air that accompanied Barry’s powers before smirking at the police and walking away. He walked over to the awestruck valet, who swallowed hard at his approach and then gratefully took his valet ticket, scurrying away to get his bike. He looked over his shoulder at the sound of steps on asphalt and watched warily as Thawne approached him.

“Snart,” Thawne greeted, hands open and empty. Len tilted his head.

“Thawne,” he acknowledged as the man drew closer. He glanced at The Gallery and then looked back at Len, folding his arms.

“I’m about to be married to Barry’s foster sister, which makes Barry my brother,” he started, and a shock of amusement burst in Len’s chest, even as he forced his face to remain passive. Edward Thawne, CCPD’s golden boy, was about to give Leonard Snart, pardoned master thief, the shovel talk in regards to Barry Allen, CSI and The Flash. “And as a brother, I think you’ll understand and believe me when I say that if you hurt Barry – if you’re playing him, or toying with his feelings for some score – I will bury you so deep no one will ever know what happened to you,” Thawne said. Len let that hang in the air between them before giving Thawne a nod of respect.

“It’s not the plan,” he said, before tilting his head. “But if that happens, I’ll expect you to look after my sister,” he added. Thawne stared at him, the protective fury leeching out of his face as the seconds passed, and he nodded back as that pleasant prickle of static charged the air. They both looked up the steps to see Barry return with the painting, packed in a crate, holding a crowbar. He looked between Thawne and Len, licking his lips nervously.

About then, Len caught the rumble of his motorcycle and turned to watch the valet approach, amused at the care with which he put down the kickstand before approaching Len with the keys and the helmet. Len took his helmet, passing the kid a handful of bills that made his eyes bug out of his head before donning the helmet and going to his bike.

“Ready when you are, Scarlet,” he said, revving the engine. He was not imagining the smirk of delight on Barry’s face.

“Lead the way, Captain.”

Len sped off into the night, smirking at the red and yellow streak that easily kept pace with his bike, and laughing at the image of him and Flash, side by side at a traffic light, waiting for it to turn green while Flash stood next to a six-and-a-half-foot crate. That was going to be front page tomorrow.

It didn’t take long to reach the safehouse – which was just ‘Len’s place’ now that he legally owned it. He unlocked the door, and directed Barry inside while he parked his motorcycle. By the time he made it up the stairs, Barry had uncrated the painting and was standing there staring at it, cowl down. Len smiled softly at the scene before stepping fully into the room. Barry looked at him, blinking a little and looking around to cover whatever embarrassment he might be feeling.

“I didn’t know where you wanted it,” he said, looking at Len, who smirked.

“Wherever I can get it, usually,” he replied as he suggestively shed his parka and threw it over the back of a nearby chair, watching the blush come back to Barry’s face as he sputtered and tried to come up with a rebuttal. He didn’t wait to see what Barry would come up with, moving past him into the open living space and studying the walls. He glanced at the painting once before nodding. “Here is good,” he said, indicating an empty space on the wall. If he sat in his usual chair, he could see both the painting and the doors. He went to the utility closet, shedding his Cold gun and holster on the way, and grabbed his stepladder and toolkit before coming back to the main room, where Flash had already moved the couch out of the way. Len smirked, up the ladder and stretching way more than he had to in order to get the nail where it needed to be.

The hitched breath behind him, though, was worth it.

He hammered in the nail and held the hammer out blindly, smirking when it was pulled from his grasp. He turned to get the painting, but Barry was already there, holding it gently and passing it up to him, and he smiled as he accepted it. He was careful with it, making sure the wire in the back had caught on the nail and would hold it before taking his hands slowly off of it.

“Is it hanging straight?” he asked, listening to Barry move away to get a better view of it. And him, coincidentally.

“It’s a little low on the left,” Barry told him, and he nodded, adjusting it until Barry told him it was good. He climbed down from the stepladder and went to put it and his toolbox away, tickled again when he returned and the couch was back in place. He went to stand beside Barry, admiring the painting and assuring himself of the placement. It fit the space well and made the room feel less empty. Beside him, Barry was holding himself still, and Len let himself smile fondly before schooling his expression as he turned to the Scarlet Speedster.

“Thanks, Barry,” he said, his tone just the right mix of grateful and mocking. Barry blinked at him, flustered.

“Uh, yeah, sure. No problem,” he said, unsure of himself.

His uncertainty was all the opportunity Len needed to reach up as he had the night before, cupping his hand against the base of Barry’s skull and pulling him forward into a kiss. He wondered vaguely if Barry was going to be shocked every time Len kissed him – found himself hoping so, if only because it was such a damn rush. The way he stumbled forward until his body was flush with Len’s. The sudden tension in his body like he’d touched a live wire. The hissed intake of air. The hand gripping his shoulder. That was going to bruise later – he couldn’t wait.

Len didn’t end it abruptly, the way he had at West’s house, lingering in the moment and reveling in how quickly Barry got over his shock and eagerly reciprocated. Len placed a hand at Barry’s waist, sighing into the kiss when he felt tentative fingers brush his own.

Eventually – reluctantly – he ended the kiss, pulling back and observing the flush of Barry’s face, the way he licked his own lips for the last traces of Len’s mouth before swallowing hard. God, he was so alluring. Prettiest thing Len had ever stolen. Len smirked at the thought, and Barry blinked suddenly, gaping at him.

“Date!” he blurted, face still blooming with red as he stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed at Len, whose smirk only turned devilish at Barry’s outburst.

“Well, if you insist,” he quipped.

“I mean this. Date. _This_ date. This is a _date_ ,” Barry babbled, and Len let him, one hand still on Barry’s waist, the other sliding down his arm to capture a hand that Barry easily, unconsciously surrendered, still staring at him. Len watched his eyebrows furrow and arched one of his own. “You lured me into our first date?” he asked, confused. Len smirked and ducked his head to hide the spasm of joy in his chest at the words ‘our first date’. After taking a second to control himself, he looked back at Barry’s stunned, awed face.

“I would consider this our second date, wouldn’t you?” he asked, and Barry sputtered, stammering and blinking and blushing. Len huffed, pulling Barry into another, shorter kiss to stall the broken off noises that weren’t quite the start of any sentence. Barry melted a little, and Len surged with pride at his ability to reduce Barry to mush – at Barry’s willingness to let him. “My offer of ruination stands,” he reminded Barry, whose eyes were a little glassy as he blinked hazily and nodded at Len. “But not tonight,” he added. Barry’s brow furrowed, obviously confused and disappointed. Len smirked. “Sex before the third date? Barry Allen, what kind of a man do you think I am?” he teased, delighting in the full coverage blush that encouraged. “Luckily for you, my well of patience isn’t as deep for personal matters as it is for planning jobs. So: tomorrow,” he said, pulling Barry closer and planting a brief kiss on his lips. “Here,” he said with another kiss. “Seven o’clock.” He punctuated his kiss by gently biting Barry’s lower lip. Barry moaned, and he almost threw the plan out the window.

But no. He wanted to do this right. He moved the hand on Barry’s waist to the small of his back and used it to guide Barry to the door. He stopped there to pull Barry’s cowl back up over his face, and to indulge in a few more kisses – god, Barry’s mouth was its own kind of drug – before opening the door.

“Don’t be late,” he advised with a hungry once over of Barry’s tri-polymer clad body. Barry took a breath, seeming to will himself back to the level of brain activity necessary for speech.

“I won’t,” he promised breathlessly, voice breaking, and Len smiled.

“See you tomorrow, Barry,” he promised in return, closing the door.

He turned to lean against it, eyes closed, head back as he sighed, heart beating light and fast in his chest.

Barry.

Barry Allen.

He smirked. His smirk grew into a smile, which grew into a grin, and he ducked his head, running his thumb over his lips.

Even dating a speedster, tomorrow could not come fast enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear *lord* that took forever.  
> It was mostly the smut.  
> Which, since the rest of the fic after chapter 4 was @17 thousand words, will be in the next chapter  
> I literally wrote more than twice as much as what was in chapter 4, christ.  
> At some point I will go back over this and balance the chapter word count, either by splitting it into more chapters or moving some chunks of this to earlier chapters  
> But anyway, here's part 1 of the rest of it, part 2 to be posted in about ten minutes
> 
> Minor edit because I forgot Cisco flat out told them how Len knew Barry's identity.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SMUT!  
> romantic smut, but still.

 

“So, how’d it go? We couldn’t get ahold of you. We assume Captain Cold is in lockup?” Caitlin asked when Barry Flashed back into the Cortex, her expression sympathetic. Barry looked at them, pulling his cowl back.

“Actually, it was great,” he said, the grin spreading on his face. “Turns out it was a trap, just not the kind involving any sort of illegal activity,” he added. They blinked.

“That…makes no sense,” Caitlin told him. Barry shrugged.

“Captain Cold is no longer a wanted man, because Captain Cold has amnesty papers,” he said. Cisco gaped, and Caitlin gasped, and both of their eyes were very wide. Barry nodded in agreement. “Apparently, he activated the generator for his cold gun specifically so that you would track it and send the cops, so that he could deliver his amnesty papers,” he told them.

“Why wouldn’t he just go to the police station directly?” Caitlin said. Cisco side-eyed her.

“With his history?” he asked, and she conceded that, rolling her eyes. “But why The Gallery?” he asked. Barry ducked his head, smiling as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well he knew if you tracked his weapon, you would send me,” he said. “And it was, like, a date,” he said. They stared for a half a second, and then a wide grin spread over Cisco’s face.

“ _My_  man,” he crowed before his enthusiasm changed to a comically straight face. “Was he a gentleman? Because I’m not above a little technological sabotage,” he said, pointing at Barry.

“He was very nice,” Barry assured him. “He bought this painting, it was – I have a picture. I’ll show you later. It’s amazing. And the artist is amazing. And then I helped him get it to his place, and we hung it in his living room, and—”

“Moved some furniture?” Cisco innuendoed with an eyebrow waggle. “That’s my  _boy_ ,” he added, and Barry snorted, shaking his head.

“No, not that. But we kissed,” he said, blushing happily. Cisco nodded with a smile while Caitlin fawned.

“I’m happy for you, Barry. I mean, disappointed, because  _one_  of us should be gettin’ some, but you know, whatever. Happy for you, bro,” he said. Barry laughed.

“Thanks, Cisco. If it makes you feel any better, we have another date tomorrow, and I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be mostly sex,” he said. Cisco’s face was simultaneously proud and disgusted, while Caitlin rolled her eyes at the both of them fondly and shook her head.

“You are the  _man_ , Barry Allen,” Cisco said, holding up his hand. Barry Flashed across the room to high five him, and Cisco pumped his fist before affecting a serious face and pointing at Barry with firm eyebrows. “And now we shall never speak of you in a sexual capacity again. I’m proud of you, but I’m still traumatized from the other night,” he said firmly. Barry wrinkled his nose as he laughed, but didn’t disagree.

“I’m so happy for you, Barry,” Caitlin told him, hand on his arm, and he smiled gratefully at her. “Now show me this painting. I need to know what it is that Captain Cold spent actual money on,” she told him, and he chuckled but grabbed his phone. Luckily, Connor had let him borrow his cellphone, so Barry had texted a picture to himself, and then erased his number from Connor’s outgoing directory. He showed Caitlin, who was floored, and then Cisco, who gaped.

“Holy shit, that’s amazing,” he said, squinting to see it a little better. “That’s you and Cold. That was hanging in The Gallery?” he asked, and Barry nodded. “Bro. your portrait was hanging in The Gallery,” he said, and Barry’s eyebrows furrowed even as he continued to smile at Cisco’s dreamy-eyed expression. “My suit has been immortalized on canvas that has hung in  _The Gallery_ ,” he said, and Barry’s shoulders slumped as he scoffed incredulously. Caitlin just shook her head. Cisco wasn’t even paying attention to them anymore.

“Oh, Cisco,” Caitlin said.

 

**

 Barry didn’t sleep.

He couldn’t.

All he could think about was his date with Len.

Kissing Len.

Holding Len.

Sex with Len.

Barry blushed in the dark of his bedroom, door locked, curtains drawn, thinking of how Len might approach sex. Imagined him rough and wild – making out with him at the front door without even saying hello, pulling at his clothes, biting at his body. They don’t even make it to the bedroom in this scenario, they end up fucking on the floor in the living room, under the painting, and god, that is so hot, how is that so _hot?_

Barry bit his lip, hand idly tracing nonlinear shapes across his chest as he imagined Len gentle – taking Barry to bed and slowly worshipping his body while telling him about all the times he’d wanted to do this. Every impure thought he’d ever had about Barry while they were fighting over whatever it was that Len had been stealing at the time. It made Barry smile softly in the dark, thinking about how romantic Len might be.

The first time he’d kissed Len – after the discovery of the whammy situation – Len had kissed powerfully, deeply. He’d controlled the situation – controlled Barry. The thought made Barry shiver, and he spread his legs a little, hand drifting to his stomach.

The kisses after that had been...playful.

Teasing.

Barry felt a rush of heat as he imagined Len leaning over him, smirking down at him, driving him crazy with not-quite-enough sensations. His hand slipped into his boxers and his breath hitched as he took himself in hand. He didn’t stroke himself, not yet, just closed his eyes and let himself imagine Len the Tease.

Len would just hold him – maybe move his thumb every now and then to remind Barry – and in the meantime, he would kiss Barry. On the mouth, on the neck, on the chest. Wet, hot, sucking kisses. He’d have a hand on Barry’s hip so that Barry couldn’t move much, wouldn’t be able to get friction from Len’s other hand by shifting his hips. Barry would be leaking by the time Len started moving his hand, and he would do it so slowly it would drive Barry crazy.

Up...and then down...and then up – god, so slowly.

He would probably chuckle at Barry’s whine, unconcerned by the torturous pleasures he was providing as he kissed Barry’s chest, and then his stomach, and then his hips, and then—

Barry bit his fist to muffle his moan as he came, breaths hitching as he shuddered. He lay panting on his bed and stared at his darkened ceiling.

This wasn’t helping him sleep.

God, he couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

 

**

 

“Okay, is there anything else? I still have twenty minutes ‘til my date,” Barry said, coming to a stop on top of a deli.

“Oh, do you have a date tonight? I didn’t realize. You should have said something like five, or seven, or nine, or twelve, or twenty minutes ago,” Cisco said into his ear, tone simultaneously bored and annoyed, and Barry grinned.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Yeah, you sound it,” Cisco replied. “There’s a carjacking on 4th, off you go,” he added, and Barry nodded, zipping away.

In the next fifteen or so minutes, he rescued two cats, stopped eight muggings, talked a suicide jumper off the Central City Bridge, and stopped by someone’s birthday party to take a selfie.

“Alright, guys, I’m calling it. I have just enough time to take a shower and figure out what I’m gonna wear for my date,” Barry said, turning towards home.

“Uh, hold on, Barry,” Cisco said, and Barry furrowed his eyebrows.

“What? Hold on for what? Guys, it’s almost seven,” he said.

“I know, buddy, but it looks like Mardon and Walker are hitting the Central City Reserve. God, they are really tearing it up. Ten people are already injured, two of them in critical condition.” Cisco sounded shocked, and Barry felt sick.

“I’m on my way,” he said, running. Two blocks away, he hit the rain. When he finally got there, it was almost hurricane level winds. Lightning was streaking through the sky. “Oh, man,” he said. He looked around. The police blockade was down the street, the area was so bad, and he could see the news anchors huddling away from the winds as they tried to give an accurate report of what was happening.

He looked at his watch.

6:58

His heart sank a little. He wasn’t going to be able to deal with this in two minutes or less.

He was going to be late, for what was probably one of the most important dates of his life. He couldn’t even give Len a heads up because they hadn’t exchanged numbers or anything – not that he thought a text would cut it. He didn’t think that Len would be more forgiving of his tardiness just because he was in the know about Barry being The Flash. And even if he _could_ text or call Len, what could he possibly say that would make Len believe that waiting for Barry was worth it? How was he going to—

He blinked, his face – which had been scrunched up against the wind and rain and with tension about the situation – relaxing into a blank expression at the shock of the idea that just floated across his brain.

He looked back at the police blockade and the cameras just beyond that.

News cameras.

Likely broadcasting on every available channel.

Oh, that was such a bad idea.

“Cisco, do you have Lisa’s number?”

“Wha—dude, are we really gonna talk about my love life right now? I think you have more important things to—” Cisco babbled. Barry checked his watch.

6:59

“ _Cisco! Do you have her number or not?!_ ” he snapped.

“Oh my god, _yes_. Geez. _Why_?” Cisco asked.

“I need you to call her and tell her to tell Len to turn on the news,” he said. “Tell her I’m about to do something _really_ stupid,” he said.

“Like what? Barry,” Cisco said, alarmed.

“Cisco, please, just _do it_ ,” he said, before turning and flashing over to the Central City Picture News van, startling the news anchor there.

“Ohmigod,” he said, and Flash winced.

“Sorry,” he said, voice distorted.

“We’re...we’re here with the Flash. Flash, can you tell us what’s happening?” the anchor said, getting back to his job with admirable speed. Barry hesitated for a second.

“Actually, can I borrow that?” he said, pointing to the mic, and the anchor stammered a little before handing it over. “Thanks,” Barry said before looking at the camera. “First, I want to assure everyone that I’m going to take care of this situation. Weather Wizard and Trickster 2.0 aren’t going to hurt anyone else on my watch. But also,” he took a deep breath. “Right now, there’s someone out there waiting for me, and I want to let them know that I’m going to be late, but I’m going to be _there_. I just need a little time to take care of this first. I’d like to let them know that I’d _much_ rather be there than here, so please...wait for me,” he said, before clearing his throat and handing the anchor back his microphone.

Before he could second guess himself, he turned and ran back towards the reserve.

“Dude,” Cisco said.

“I know,” Barry replied.

“That was—”

“I _know_ ,” Barry repeated. “It looks like the doors are wired. Is there another way in?”

“Are we not going to talk about—”

“Cisco. On a clock here,” Barry interrupted, and Cisco grumbled.

“Okay, I don’t know how long they’ve been there, but I can’t imagine either of them having the time or patience to booby-trap all the windows. Try above the second floor,” Cisco said. Barry nodded, taking a breath and getting to work.

 

**

 

7:02

Len looked at his watch and took a breath, sighing out of his nose as he turned to look at the spread he’d fixed up.

There was any number of reasons for Barry not to be here right now. Len couldn’t think of _any_ that would ease the disappointment – the hurt – that was curling darkly through his chest right now.

His phone buzzed. He considered ignoring it, but glanced at the food again and decided that a distraction would be worth it.

“Lisa,” he greeted.

“Turn on the news,” she said. He frowned.

“Why would I do—”

“Turn it on right now. I swear you’ll be glad that you did,” Lisa said. Len sighed, but went into the living room and turned on his television, which was already set to a Central City Picture News broadcast. The first thing he registered was Barry, on camera – blurred face and all. The second thing he noticed was the chaos in the background that made him narrow his eyes.

“Weather Wizard and Trickster 2.0 aren’t going to hurt anyone else on my watch,” Barry was saying, his voice distorted by the vibration of his vocal chords. Len blinked, feeling a clench of guilt. Maybe telling Hartley and Shawna about the amnesty deal hadn’t been the best plan after all. He should have known that one or both of them would blab to Mardon or Axel, who would realize they weren’t getting the same deal and completely overreact. “But also,” Flash went on, hesitating only slightly, but in a way that set the hair on Len’s neck on end in anticipation. “Right now, there’s someone out there waiting for me,” Barry said. Len’s heart leapt into his throat and stayed there. “—and I want to let them know that I’m going to be late, but I’m going to be _there_ —” Len couldn’t get over the risk Barry was taking. Someone was going to run a voice analysis. Someone was going to get a freeze frame high def still of his face. “—I just need a little time to take care of this first. I’d like to let them know that I’d _much_ rather be there than here, so please...wait for me,” Barry said, before handing the news anchor back his microphone and zipping away to deal with Mardon and Walker.

“Your boy is somethin’ else,” Lisa said smugly.

Len watched the channel rebroadcast Flash’s message with speculation as to what Flash might have meant, and let a pleased and triumphant smirk cross his face.

 “You have no idea,” he told his sister before hanging up.

The things he was going to do to that man.

 

**

 

“Here you go,” Barry said to the cops, dropping an unconscious Mardon at their feet and passing a restrained, sniffling and tearstained Axel into their waiting arms. Mardon had actually been the harder of the two to take down – the one with the desire and drive to hurt people. Axel had just been upset that Len hadn’t seen fit to include him in the amnesty deal and had acted out using the methods James Jesse had brainwashed him with. Once Flash had acknowledged the pain he was feeling, offered him the comfort he really needed, Axel had given up with very little fuss. “Be a little gentle with this one, he listened to some bad advice,” he said, patting Axel on the shoulder when the kid looked at him.

“Sorry, Flash,” he said, and Flash nodded before looking at the policemen.

“So, are we cool here? Cause I got a—”

“You go, Flash,” said Eddie, stepping up to help haul Mardon away and throwing Barry a smirk. “We’ve got these guys from here. You’ve got somewhere to be,” he said. Flash grinned and then sped away in the opposite direction.

He thought about running directly to Len’s place, but he was a fucking mess and he smelled like...yeah no. He ran home, straight to the shower, which he was forced to take at normal speed, because a speedy sponge bath with drops of water from the snail’s-pace spray – which would be cold because it took ages (twenty seconds) for the water to heat up – was not going to cut it, and also, he kinda wanted to let the hot water release some of the tension from his shoulders after that fight. Then he went through his entire wardrobe before going with a shirt that Iris had picked out for him and a pair of black slacks with his good shoes. He threw a vest on top of it because Len struck him as the kind of guy who appreciated a touch of style.

Once he was dressed, he carefully sped his way to Len’s place, stopping at a bodega for a bottle of wine that he hoped went well with whatever Len had planned and also paired as a nice apology gift.

And finally, he was standing outside the door. He swallowed past a sudden burst of nerves, clenched his hand a couple times, took a breath, and knocked.

 

**

 

Len, having watched the news until it was reported that Flash had left the scene and then pulled dinner back out of the fridge, had been waiting by the door for four minutes and fifty-seven seconds when his skin prickled and the low _whump_ of displaced air alerted him to Barry’s presence. He listened to Barry shuffle nervously on the other side, and restrained himself from yanking the door open at the first knock of knuckles against wood. He counted to ten in his head before letting himself reach for the handle, because what, was he desperate?

He opened the door about eight inches, as if he weren’t sure who’d be on the other side.

“I’m here,” Barry blurted as soon as Len opened the door, holding his breath with a hopeful, sheepish smile. Len leaned against the doorjamb, letting his eyes drag down Barry’s form – not in his tri-polymer suit as he had been five minutes ago – and felt the skin of his body flush with possessive hunger at the thought that Barry had taken the time to giftwrap himself after dealing with Len’s wayward Rogues.

He decided to let Mardon and Axel stew for a few days.

“I’m late, but I’m here,” Barry said, echoing his words from the broadcast and almost strangling the neck of the wine bottle as he tensely waited for Len to decide whether or not to let him in. Len let him stew for three long seconds before pushing the door the rest of the way open. Watching Barry’s body language shift dramatically from anxious to dumbstruck was its own kind of reward.

Len had decided to forego all but the barest hint of pretenses. Barry might have dressed up, but Len had most definitely dressed _down_ for the occasion. He’d selected a white tank that was a size smaller than he’d normally procure, and a pair of soft, dark blue, cotton sweatpants that he could be out of in half a second. He watched Barry’s eyes track down his body after catching on the still healing hickeys, mouth falling slack, and knew he’d made the right call.

Barry fumbled the bottle of wine and only caught it because he could move faster than human perception could track. Len smirked, shaking his head.

“Give me the wine, Allen. You clearly can’t hold your liquor,” he said. Barry blinked at him, eyes rolling automatically the second he registered the pun even as his mouth twisted in an attempt not to show amusement.

“How,” he said, as he surrendered the wine. Len made sure their fingers brushed. “ _How_ can you possibly get away with being so attractive while you make puns? How is this possible? Puns are not attractive.” he protested, shaking his head. Len gave a theatrical shrug as Barry stepped inside, his eyes never quite leaving the visual feast Len had made himself.

“It’s a carefully cultivated talent,” he replied, closing the door. He looked at the wine and made noise of consideration. “As apologies go, this one’s not horrible,” he said, and Barry immediately looked chagrinned.

“I...uh...wasn’t sure you got my message,” he stammered.  Len huffed, eyes sparkling with mischief as he looked back at Barry.

“I’m pretty sure every news outlet on the east coast is running with the story of Flash assuring his mystery someone of his intention to make their date,” Len said, keeping his tone low and lazy as he locked the door and walked past Barry into the dining area. “Hungry?” he asked, looking over his shoulder as he pulled open the drawer holding the bottle opener and smirking at Barry, who pretended he hadn’t just been caught looking at Len’s ass.

“Famished,” he admitted, starting towards the dining room before pausing to shed his vest, which he draped over the couch, and his shoes and socks, leaving him as barefoot as his host.

Len watched, imagining his shirt over a lamp and his pants on the floor.

“Then we’ll eat first,” he said, pulling the cork from the bottle with an audible pop. He carried the bottle to the smallish, round, two-person table he’d set up for the date, which was laden with several sushi delights that had Barry licking his lips. Len set the wine down and pulled out a chair for Barry, delighting in his pleased and bashful smile, as well as the shiver elicited by trailing his fingers over the back of Barry’s neck on the way to his own seat. “Dig in,” Len said, pouring them each a glass of the wine before lounging in his chair. He selected a few pieces from each of the rolls he’d prepared, chewing lazily as he turned his attention to his company.

Watching Barry eat was an experience.

The way Barry’s eyes slid closed, the little moans that escaped when he took his first bite. The way his head tilted back the slightest bit and his fingers relaxed on his chopsticks. Len barely tasted his own food – only continued eating for the energy it would provide for later – watching Barry demolish almost half the spread before slowing, clearing his palate between rolls with little sips of wine that Len knew would do absolutely nothing to dull Barry’s perceptions.

Len couldn’t wait to devour him.

“This is...oh my god, so good,” Barry sighed, and Len’s gut clenched pleasantly. If he played his cards right, that would be the exact tone with which Barry praised his performance.

“I aim to please,” he said, taking a drink of his wine and setting it and his plate aside. He watched Barry watch him do this, watched his jaw stall mid-chew, and was gratified to note the dilation in Barry’s eyes as he finished the rest of his morsel and pushed his plate back.

“Now what?” Barry asked.

His leg was restlessly bouncing, going almost a mile a minute under the table. Len could see the lightning start to spark, and he leaned forward, fingertips finding Barry’s knee. Instantly, Barry stilled swallowing hard and watching Len lean forward, out of his chair, one hand on the back of Barry’s chair, the other on his knee as Len leaned suggestively into his space. Barry’s eyes were very dilated. Their faces were very close.

“Now?” Len said, his fingers gliding about halfway up Barry’s inseam before lifting to settle on his chest. His heart was beating extremely fast. Len watched Barry angle his face up just the slightest bit, and felt his lips pull up into a more intimate version of his classic smirk as he leaned back, away from Barry and against the table. “Now we put dinner away and get to dessert,” Len said. Barry stared at him. His face was flushed, and his eyes were wide, and suddenly he was gone.

There was a rush of wind, and that prickle of static and Len turned his head this way and that, catching glimpses of Barry moving about the space before blinking at his kitchen when it all stopped. The place was clean – no sign dinner had ever taken place except for the dishes by the sink.

Barry was back in front of him, looking bashfully like a puppy waiting to be praised for the performance of a trick. Len huffed, smirk returning full force.

“Careful, Scarlet,” he teased. “You’ll burn all those calories before we even get started,” he said, reaching for Barry’s waist and pulling him forward.

“Actually, my metabolism is super high,” Barry said as he let himself be drawn closer, cheeks burning. He swallowed hard and licked his lips, trailing his fingers over Len’s bare forearms as their bodies met. “So, the odds are good that I’ve _already_ —”

“Stop talking now,” Len murmured, looking at Barry’s mouth.

“Yup. Yeah, okay, I can do that,” Barry babbled, and Len huffed, leaning forward and kissing him.

The kiss was soft, because Len intended to start slow – to take his time with The Ruination of Barry Allen – to be so thorough that Barry would lose and never regain the will or desire to leave Len’s bed. He wanted Barry to think of this whenever his thoughts weren’t consumed with saving the world and every living thing in it, and sometimes when they were.

Except...

He broke the kiss, studying his superspeed, soon-to-be lover.

“Barry,” he said, and the other man blinked his eyes open with an inquisitive hum. “Are you okay with this?” he asked. Barry seemed surprised by the question.

“Yeah. Of course,” he said, which was all manner of gratifying to hear, but...

“You’re _trembling_ ,” Len told him, thumbs caressing the curve where Barry’s waist met his hips. Barry blushed, wincing and ducking his head as he ran a hand through his hair, but he didn’t pull away, and Len waited patiently for him to say...whatever it was he was going to say.

“That’s not...I’m not nervous...well, I _am_ , but not...” he took a breath.

The blush was traveling down Barry’s neck under the collar of his shirt, and Len burned to know how far down the blush would go before tapering off.

He waited. He was a goddamn saint.

“It’s just that I haven’t...successfully... _been_ with a person since I got my speed,” he said with a meaningless gesture and a bashful shrug.

Len stared at him.

He was sure that his face was blank because of all the unfortunate training of his early life, but inside his brain was exploding, and his body was flushed with want.

He was going to be the first – the _only_ person, unless he screwed this up – to fuck the Flash. To _be_ fucked by The Flash. To see The Flash come apart from pleasure. To pop his superspeed cherry.

When he came back from his personal safari to Cloud Nine, he’d turned them both so that Barry was leaning against the table with Len eagerly mapping Barry’s mouth while he undid the buttons of Barry’s shirt (Len was going to have a talk with him later about planning – honestly, if you know you’re going to get laid, snaps were the way to go). Barry was still trembling, but he had a hand on the back of Len’s neck, and the other was pulling up the back of Len’s shirt. Len hummed as he withdrew from Barry’s mouth, lips and teeth making their way along Barry’s jawline.

“You were saying something,” Len said against his neck before moving to Barry’s now accessible collarbone as he pulled the bottom of Barry’s shirt from his pants and worked at the last of the buttons.

“Y-yeah,” Barry said, breath hitching when Len pushed his shirt off his shoulders and then twisted it around his hand, leaving Barry’s arms trapped in the sleeves. “I, uh...’cause my speed. Everything is fast,” he said, trying to stay focused as Len nibbled on his chest. “And I, uh—oh, _God,_ ” Barry blurted, breath escaping him in a rush as Len put his mouth on Barry’s nipple, laving it with the flat of his tongue as he stared attentively up at Barry. Barry bit his lip. “I h-have kind of a hair trigger – because accelerated heartbeat and blood flow— _Jesus!_ ”

Barry shuddered hard at the way Len raked his teeth against his nipple, pushing his hips against Len’s. Barry was hard, and so was Len – had been since Barry admitted to being a meta-virgin – and he straightened up from where he’d been teasing Barry, using his body to pin Barry more effectively to the table. He used his leverage and Barry’s shirt-bound arms, grinding his erection against Barry’s to hear him whine, keeping it slow because Barry was delicious and deserved to be savored.

“Keep talking, Scarlet,” he said, and Barry gave a drunk, breathy chuckle.

“A h-hair trigger can be explained medically,” Barry explained, panting as he tried to get the leverage to rock into Len’s rhythm. “And, I guess, so could my ridiculous, a-a-almost nonexistent refractory period,” he added.

 _Fuck_. Len rocked hard against Barry, ducking his head to work a hickey into the base of Barry’s throat as he moaned.

“B-but,” Barry continued valiantly. “There’s no current, medical, _non-meta_ explanation for the way I, uh...vibrate,” Barry said.

Len froze, whole body halting as his head snapped up so he could stare at Barry, who was flushed and panting.

“ _V_ —” Len stopped with a blink, his entire face going blank with shock.

Oh.

Sweet Hope Diamond, he’d seen Barry blur _his entire body_ – how had he _not seen_ the potential sexual implications of that?

He imagined fucking Barry and feeling that vibration around his dick; imagined Barry fucking him and feeling that vibration inside him – alive and warm, and more fulfilling than even the best sex toy on the market.

He must have been staring for more than a few seconds, because Barry’s eyebrows were starting to furrow, and he was frowning. He looked concerned. Len took a breath, gave himself a mental shake to get his head back in the game, accessing his well of self-control and forcing himself to focus.

“Barry,” he said, and _fuck,_ his voice was like raw gravel, but that was fine if it made Barry shiver like that. “I’m going to take you to bed now. And I’m going to fuck you until neither of us can move,” he said. Barry swallowed hard, but appeared unopposed. “It’s possible you may have to cancel whatever you have planned for tomorrow,” he added. Barry’s laugh came out like a moan, and Len had to kiss him. He untwisted Barry’s shirt, pulling it down and off his arms after a minor struggle with the buttons at the wrist.

Barry’s hands were on him the second his arms were freed, and Len moaned into the kiss as he pulled Barry’s legs around his hips and then lifted him off the table.

“Fuck,” Barry groaned, gripping Len’s shoulders.

“I work out,” Len muttered between kisses, carrying Barry to his bedroom and only stopping once to press him into a wall.

He stopped by the foot of the bed, letting Barry’s legs slip from his waist to the ground even as he kept his hands molded to Barry’s ass, holding him tightly as they kissed. His jaw was getting a little sore from the movement, but Barry kissed like that was the whole point of sex, and fuck but his argument was compelling, grinding his hips against Len’s, ass clenching under Len’s fingers.

He groaned suddenly, gripping at Len’s arm – the same arm he’d bruised last night, and his hips stilled in a way that set Len’s skin on fire with realization. He gripped Barry’s ass a little harder, provoking a shudder. Barry’s head tilted back a little and he panted, body relaxing in a way that Len was intimately familiar with.

“Christ, Barry,” Len hissed, but Barry just laughed, breathless and only slightly embarrassed.

“I told you,” he replied, grinning. “Hair trigger.”

Len immediately devoted a portion of his remaining brainpower to planning a night where he could determine the exact number of times that Barry could come in an hour.

“Take your clothes off, Barry,” he ordered, and Barry shivered at the command in his tone before licking his lips, eyes so blown with lust they were almost black.

“I want to undress you first,” he said. Len shivered, then pretended he didn’t, hands sliding reluctantly away from Barry to rest at his side.

“As you wish,” he said.

He assumed Barry would use his speed.

He was never so glad to be wrong.

Barry trailed his hands down Len’s chest, tucking his fingers under the tank top he was wearing and pushing the fabric up so that those warm, warm hands were pressed fully against his skin, smoothing up his bare chest. He raised his arms so that Barry could pull his shirt off and then closed his eyes when he felt Barry’s mouth, light and warm – pressing a kiss to the side of his neck.

And then his shoulder, his collarbone, his chest...

Len opened his eyes and watched Barry press kiss after gentle kiss down his chest as he slowly sank to his knees. Len swallowed hard at the sight of Barry’s bare shoulders, how his eyes were closed as he kissed Len’s stomach, his vulnerable feet against the floor. Len clenched his teeth as he tried to level his breathing. He grabbed the bedpost, knuckles white against the wood, as Barry’s hands tugged his sweats down over his hips. They pooled around his ankles almost instantly, barely any resistance to he waistband, and Barry let out a moan of pure desire at the realization that Len hadn’t bothered to wear boxers underneath.

“Fuck,” he muttered against Len’s hip, biting at the skin there. Len hissed in a breath.

“Barry,” he started, and then choked on a moan when Barry gently wrapped his warm, dry hand around Len’s cock. Barry, mouthing at the skin directly beside Len’s dick, gave a mildly, distractedly inquisitive hum in response to his name that Len thought was unnecessarily cheeky. He took a few breaths intended to calm his racing heart and ran a shaking hand through Barry’s hair, biting back a curse as Barry’s hand started moving. “Barry, my refractory period is five minutes and forty-three seconds,” he said, proud that he only sounded mildly breathless instead of desperate. And _God_ , he was desperate – mostly for Barry’s mouth on his dick – but he was also seconds away from coming and he had _plans_ , damn it.

Barry huffed a little, most likely amused that Len knew _exactly_ how long it would take him to be ready to go again. He looked up at Len and his hand slowed to a stop. It was a disappointed relief, but something about the look on Barry’s face made the hair on the back of Len’s neck stand up.

It looked like he was doing math.

After a moment, he grinned. Len’s heart gave an alarming kick.

“That’s about how long it’ll take for you to finger me open and lube me up,” he said cheerfully, keeping his eyes on Len’s as he licked the tip of his cock like a goddamn lollipop.

Len came like a shot – painting Barry’s lips and cheek with his cum – and fell over, knees buckling like a poorly constructed bridge support, fingers slipping nervelessly from the bedpost.

The noise he made was undignified, and he lay on his back on the floor of his bedroom, panting and swearing and listening to Barry’s delighted, intoxicating laugh.

He felt Barry pull his sweatpants free from his ankles and sighed, closing his eyes when he felt Barry’s lips on the side of one knee, and then the other. He alternated kisses like that, up Len’s legs, and Len wondered what kind of a monster he’d created when Barry stopped to suck a hickey into the meat of his thigh.

Well...technically this was Bivolo’s doing.

Maybe Len should send him a gift-basket.

He grunted when he Barry kissed his limp, temporarily spent dick, and huffed at Barry’s chuckle.

Barry kept kissing up his body, and the fingers of Len’s hand weaved themselves in Barry’s soft hair, urging him up until Len could kiss him. Their tongues tangled lazily and Len sighed, opening his eyes to glare half-heartedly at Barry’s gleeful grin.

“Are you alright?” Barry asked. He still had Len’s ejaculate on his cheek. He seemed unconcerned. Len was possibly transcending this mortal plane.

“I had plans, Allen,” he said, no spite in his words. Barry arched his eyebrows.

“Yeah? Did I go too fast for you?” he asked, and Len gave him a flat, unamused stare that belied the way his heart fluttered in his chest.

“How dare you.”

“Do you need me to slow down?”

“Is this what I’m like? I’ve learned my lesson,” Len said dryly, even as a slight smirk pulled at his lips. Barry chuckled.

“Liar,” he said, kissing Len’s smirk into submission. When he lifted his head, it was to study Len, who furrowed his eyebrows at the soft smile that Barry developed from whatever he saw. “Did you think you’d have to seduce me?” he asked, and Len shrugged, conceding with a tilt of his head that he might have thought that.

“I wanted to seduce you,” he admitted, and Barry huffed.

“Len,” he started before blushing a little. “The other night? After I got de-whammied—”

“And promptly fled the area?” Len asked. Barry looked away for a moment.

“Not my best moment. Freaked out a little, mostly over the insane consent issues,” Barry said, and Len snorted. “But _after_ that, I jerked off three times to the bruises you left on my arms,” he said. The expression on Len’s face slid slowly from consideration to the special kind of blank he was developing for Barry that meant he wanted to lay Barry down right this instant. Barry could apparently read that expression, because his blush returned along with his smile. “And last night? I can’t even tell you how many times I got off imagining what kind of a lover you’d be,” he added. Len felt himself attempting to stir at the visual.

“Any favorites you’d care to share?” Len asked, his raw gravel voice returning to make Barry shiver.

“Let’s just say there’s a lot I’d be willing to explore,” he replied. “My point is, you don’t have to handle with care,” he said. “You said you were going to ruin me and I want that. I want you to ruin me,” he said.

Len hummed, the smirk coming back to his face. He pushed himself up, catching Barry’s lips as he sat up, pulling Barry against him until Barry was straddling his lap on the floor while Len plundered his mouth.

“Barry,” Len said against Barry’s mouth, and Barry hummed questioningly, eyes lidded, smile still pulling at his mouth. “Take your god damn pants off,” he ordered.

Barry laughed. He squirmed out of Len’s grasp and stood, pulling Len up with him off the floor. He dropped his pants and boxers both, stepping out of them and leaving them there as he approached Len, who pulled him closer, stealing a kiss before turning and tripping him onto the bed. Barry laughed again and Len smiled. When he imagined seducing Barry, there was more moaning, and less laughter.

He liked the reality better.

He retrieved the lube and condoms he’d prepared from the bedside table and tossed them onto the bed near the pillows before settling between Barry’s legs. He didn’t give Barry much warning, taking the speedster’s renewed erection in hand and swirling his tongue around the tip to hear Barry curse before taking it into his mouth, all while keeping his eyes on Barry. Barry shouted, head thrown back into the mattress, his hand gripping Len’s skull as he gasped and whimpered. His hand was trembling with the effort not to push Len further down on his cock, and Len held his hips, swallowing Barry down to the root before retreating until just the tip was in his mouth, and then sucking him back in.

“Oh my god,” Barry whined, hips making tiny little abortive thrusts. Len hummed. “Len,” Barry said, urgently, hand petting desperately at his neck and hair. “Len. _Len_. Hair trigger. _Hair trigger, Len_. _Plea—I’mgonnacum,_ ” he whimpered before his whole body spasmed, back bowing off the bed. His mouth opened but the sound choked in his throat, erupting as a strangled groan as Len pulled back and swallowed every drop, tongue massaging the spot just under the head. “Fuck, _fuck_!” he panted, collapsing against the comforter with a shiver and just lying there. “Wooow,” he drawled after a moment of just breathing.

Len licked his lips, mimicking Barry from earlier as he kissed up Barry’s chest, grinning against skin when Barry laughed breathlessly at him. He leaned up to view his progress and smirked at Barry’s dazed smile, grabbing the lube and pressing forward to kiss Barry.

“As a gentleman,” he started, magnanimously ignoring Barry’s incredulous giggle. “I leave the decision up to you. I can work you open on my fingers until you are a writhing mess of limbs eager for my cock,” he said, smirking at Barry’s shiver and the way he bit his lip. “Or, I can prep myself and ride you until one or both of us pass out,” he offered, tilting his head as he looked down at Barry’s flushed, wanting face.

A quick glance down Barry’s body showed that he was already starting to get hard again.

“I’m really just spoiled for choice, aren’t I?” Barry said, doing his best to sound as though he were casually considering between two breakfast options instead of desperate for the pleasure Len could give him. He fell short, but Len admired his attempt, dropping kisses on Barry’s shoulders as he waited for a decision.

He ran a hand over Barry’s warmed, shivering skin, starting at his neck and working his way methodically down, making a mental note of all the places that affected Barry – a hitched breath halfway down his neck, a sigh at the base of his throat, a bitten lip as Len thumbed his nipples.

“What’s it going to be, Barry?” Len asked, leaning down to nuzzle one of the spots on his neck, and Barry shivered.

“ _God,”_ he said, the word bursting out in a hissed curse. “I want both. Can’t we do both?” he asked, and Len snorted, gripping Barry’s side and shaking his head before lifting his head to smirk down at Barry.

“Only thieves get to be greedy, Scarlet,” he teased, and Barry made a face.

“How can you have a sister and still say that?” he asked.

“My sister’s a thief, Barry,” Len reminded him, and Barry scoffed, blushing.

“Right. Well, I guess if I _have_ to choose—”

“You do.”

“—then I want you to fuck me,” Barry said, grinning mischievously like he knew that saying those words would send a bolt of lust shooting down Len’s spine. And they did.

Honestly, he’d been prepared to perform either way, but hearing Barry say that he wanted Len to fuck him gave him a thrill that he normally only got during the execution of a perfectly-planned heist.

“Your wish is my command,” he said, the snap of the opening tube of lubricant eliciting a delighted snort from Barry as Len shifted on the bed, kneeling up and encouraging Barry to turn himself so his head was against the pillows. Len took one of the pillows and put it under Barry’s hips, enjoying the brief, shocked exclamation that dropped from Barry’s pretty lips when Len lifted him bodily with barely any effort. “So, this hair trigger,” he said casually, coating his fingers with the unscented lube and just as casually pressing the unwarmed gel between Barry’s cheeks, earning another curse.

“ _Fuck!_ That’s _cold_ ,” Barry protested, and Len smirked.

“Sorry,” he purred insincerely, dropping a kiss to Barry’s bent knee and then dragging his teeth over that spot as he rubbed his fingers over Barry’s entrance. “Your hair trigger,” he said again, and Barry blushed, pulling one of the pillows more securely behind his head so he could look down his body at Len.

“W-what about it?” he asked, eyelids fluttering as Len slowly, carefully worked the tip of a finger into him.

“Is that a permanent condition?” he asked, keeping his voice low and intimate. “Are you going to come all over yourself every thirty seconds while I open you up for my dick, Barry?” he asked, and Barry’s whole body shuddered. “Because I’m thinking of what a pretty picture that would make; you taking me in while covered in your own spunk,” he said, adding more lube and watching Barry, already trembling, start to leak. He’d worked his finger in to the second knuckle, and started to slowly withdraw and then push back in, rotating his wrist. Barry’s breaths were starting to become labored, his eyes closing and then dragging open again like he couldn’t stand not watching Len take him to pieces. “You like that, Barry? Want me to fuck you messy?” he asked, crooking his finger and brushing against his target.

Barry came with a strangled, wordless exclamation and threw his head back against the pillows as his hands clawed at the blankets. His orgasm was accompanied by a full body buzz – a shiver so hard and fast that it was an actual vibration because Len was fucking _The Flash_. Len bit his lip, easing the tip of his second finger into Barry alongside the first and embracing the burst of heat when another vibration wracked Barry, who moaned, cock twitching.

Len leaned forward, moving Barry’s leg to bend down over Barry and kiss him, tongue dipping between Barry’s sex-slack lips.

“It... fuck. It stops after a few times,” Barry slurred between kisses, and it took Len a half second to realize he was talking about his hair trigger. He ignored his disappointment at the knowledge, dropping kisses on Barry’s face as he continued his slow, deliciously torturous stretch. “It’s not aaaactually thirty seconds, fuck,” Barry gasped, shoulders hunched forward as Len teased his prostate, touching around it but not actually making full contact. Barry sucked in a breath, biting his teeth and buzzing under Len’s lips.

Len abruptly realized that he was hard, and that his dick was tucked against Barry’s hip.

Barry who was vibrating.

They both moaned, and Len pushed himself up, panting down at Barry, who collapsed against the pillows with a whimper of loss when Len pulled his fingers out. Len took a deep breath and shook himself, grabbing the lube.

“How long is it exactly?” he asked, distracting himself – although admittedly the distraction was just as dangerous for his self-control as the main objective. Barry groaned a laugh, rubbing a hand over his hair.

“I’ve never timed it. It’s just like other people – stamina builds up so it takes longer each tiiiiime,” he said, shivering and stuttering out a whimper as Len worked three thoroughly lubed up fingers into Barry, whose shoulders shook and whose legs trembled. Len watched him hungrily, offering a prompting, inquisitive noise after a few seconds of gently twisting his fingers, making Barry writhe. Barry was shifting his hips, hungry for the stimulation.

Beautiful.

“But you’re so fast it’s barely noticeable?” Len guessed and Barry nodded, low moans rumbling out of his throat almost every other breath. He reached out and grabbed Len’s unoccupied arm to anchor himself. Len glanced at it and huffed. More bruises. He didn’t mind. He tilted his head, looking at Barry, spunk spattered on his stomach, cock already leaking again. “Delightful,” he purred, thrusting his fingers in and out of Barry’s ass and drinking in the string of yelped curses as Barry came _again,_ painting his own chest and stomach with more of his come.

“Please. Len. God. I’m so ready,” Barry begged, and Len couldn’t deny how affected he was by that. By Barry begging Len to fuck him.

“Patience,” he said, and Barry’s whimper of betrayal was going to be the fucking end of him.

Scratch that.

The look of furious determination that suddenly dominated Barry’s face, jaw clenching as he glared at Len. That was going to be the end of him. Shit.

He was unprepared for the way Barry planted his feet and started undulating his hips, fucking himself on Len’s fingers.

“ _Damn_ ,” Len exclaimed, watching Barry shiver and shake – feeling the conscious vibrations of Barry’s body all the way to his shoulder. He figured Barry would try to convince Len to stop teasing and fuck him, but he figured it would involve more verbal persuasion. Watching Barry Allen drag fingers through the mess on his stomach and suck his fingers clean while maintaining eye contact, though, Len had to admit he was impressed with Barry’s opening gambit.

Not enough to capitulate, though. Barry would be a sobbing mess by the time Len fucked him. He was a master planner. This was the plan. Just because Barry had sidetracked him earlier didn’t mean that Len was going to lose the game that was running between them now. He focused.

“You’re trembling again, Scarlet,” he purred, twisting his fingers inside Barry and crooking them up to gently caress against his prostate, smirking at the unbridled whine of lust that broke from Barry’s throat.

“Ca-Can’t help it,” Barry gasped, biting his lips as he looked at Len through sex-hooded eyes. “You give me _chills_.”

Len stared at him, frozen for three solid seconds before he pulled his hand free, grabbing the condoms...Well, fuck. He _lost._

“I’m going to fuck you now, Barry,” he said, and Barry’s head fell back against the pillows with a groan.

“Yeeeeess, finally,” he said, spreading his legs wantonly as Len shifted between them, sliding the condom on and being liberal with the lube before setting the head of his cock against Barry’s stretched hole and pressing in, slow but steady. He cursed and forced his hips to still when Barry came with him halfway inside, that delicious vibration shocking through his hips and almost making him come on the spot. He took a moment to breathe while Barry lay there, breathlessly grinning and giggling at nothing, his brain swimming in endorphin soup. Len glared at Barry, assessing their position.

The vibrations had actually facilitated Len’s penetration – he was in practically to the hilt, and it was nothing to roll his hips forward the rest of the way, killing Barry’s giggle with a hitched breath.

“Pay attention, Scarlet,” Len demanded, refusing to clear his throat when it came out rough and hoarse, and Barry’s eyes locked on him like there was nowhere else to look.

Len was already half gone from watching Barry come again and again and again, and the pace he set wasn’t as slow or easy as he normally would have started with, but damn if it didn’t make Barry’s eyes roll up in his head, legs tight over Len’s hips, heels tight against Len’s ass like he could keep Len in him forever. He’d arched back against the pillows before curling forward, his hands gripping Len’s shoulders. His breaths were punched out little groans in time with the snap of Len’s hips, and he was starting to vibrate steadily now instead of in short bursts like before. His moans were shaky too, from where the speed was taking over his whole body, lightning sparking in his eyes.

Eyes that were locked on Len, who cursed, ducking his head forward, mashing his mouth against Barry’s in something that was too wild to be called a kiss before dropping his mouth to Barry’s shoulder, biting hard. Barry’s shout and the warm splash of cum between them made the white-hot pleasure coalesce at the base of his spine and he cursed against Barry’s skin, hips stuttering to a halt, pressed as tight as he could to Barry’s skin as he panted against Barry’s collarbone.

He kissed Barry’s throat, and Barry kissed his jaw, and then they were just kissing, wet and open-mouthed; Barry’s legs relaxing off of Len’s hips; Len softening inside Barry.

Barry.

Barry Allen.

A stomach growled noisily in the silence that had previously only been broken by panting breaths and wet, sloppy kisses, and they froze, Barry blinking at Len, who was staring into his eyes.

Len snorted, smirking, and Barry scoffed, falling back against the pillows with a hand over his face. Len ducked his head and laughed against Barry’s messy chest, low and breathless.

“Sh’up,” Barry mumbled. Len sighed, kissed his sternum, and then pushed himself up to kneel over Barry.

They both made noises of disappointment as Len pulled gently out of him, disposing of the condom in a trash can that was near the bed for that very purpose before getting off the bed. Barry watched him walk into the adjoining bathroom, heard the faucet run, and then smiled when Len came back with a washcloth. He cleaned Barry’s chest and stomach, tossing the washcloth over his shoulder and earning a snort and a smile from Barry before opening the bedside drawer again.

He climbed back on the bed and settled himself beside Barry, who took that for the invitation that it was and pressed himself up against Len’s side, an arm thrown across his stomach, one leg insinuating itself between Len’s. He sighed into the cuddle, and then blinked when Len presented him with what he’d retrieved from the bedside table.

It was a power bar.

It was a _Cisco Ramon_ power bar.

Barry blinked at it, and then lifted his head, looking at Len – at Len’s smirk – at Len.

“Did you break into STAR Labs?” he asked, and Len huffed.

“I had a discussion with Dr. Snow – a civil one – about your medical requirements,” he said, and Barry looked touched. “Then I had a discussion with Cisco, mostly to make him uncomfortable. Ten thousand calories, Barry? I’m going to have to adjust my culinary repertoire,” he said, waggling the bar a little. Barry took it, unwrapping it and taking a sizeable bite. Len broke a piece the size of a penny off the corner and popped it into his mouth, humming speculatively about the rich chocolate flavor.

Barry ate in relative silence, while Len waited for the awkwardness of what they’d done – the dynamic they’d shifted – to appear.

It didn’t, exactly. Barry didn’t tense up or pull away or make excuses about why he shouldn’t spend the night, and Len didn’t open his mouth so he could shove his foot in it. They lingered there in comfortable silence, Barry’s thumb swiping back and forth over his chest, eyes mostly closed, and Len did the same with Barry’s shoulder, staring up at the ceiling.

Suddenly, Barry snorted, burying his face against the side of Len’s chest. Len blinked, and waited, but Barry just shook with laughter, and he arched an eyebrow.

“Care to share?” he asked, and Barry sighed, breath fanning Len’s skin pleasantly.

“Do you realize that now whenever Cisco’s cold gun alert goes off, I’m going to pop the most awkward and inappropriate boner,” he said, and Len’s snort burst out of him before he could contain it.

“All part of my master plan, Scarlet,” he teased, moving his hand to smack Barry’s exposed bottom and eliciting another burst of laughter that made him smile. He shifted onto his side and kissed Barry, losing himself in Barry’s happiness and letting himself forget the outside world for the rest of the night.

Barry Allen was in his arms, holding him like he’d never let go, and Len could worry about how he was going to keep the world from tearing them apart in the morning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg, it's finally done!
> 
> This will likely become one of a collection of stories that include how Mick woos Caitlin, Cisco and Lisa's progressing relationship, Team Flash and the Amnesty Brigade team ups, and more; much, much more.
> 
> Just not right now. I've got stuff going on and an epic fic to finish for another fandom entirely
> 
> Anyway, hope this was satisfactory for everyone.
> 
> [small edit: episode 2 (ish) Cisco says Barry has to consume a number of calories equal to 850 tacos. according to Google, a hard taco with beef, cheese and lettuce has 156 calories. Multiplied by 850 is 132, 600 calories. And then in Supergirl 1.18, Barry says he has to consume about 10,000 calories a day. Not sure what kind of taco only has 11 calories, but damn, I want some if it means I can have tacos all day long.]


	7. Surprise Epilogue

Len woke up suddenly, acutely aware that someone was touching him – on him, pressed against his side, holding him – trapping him. His heart kicked in his chest and he sucked in a breath as he lifted his head, fingers twitching where it was wrapped around a foreign shoulder. He looked down and froze at the mop of soft brown curls that was resting on his bare chest. Watched as the arm around his chest shifted, a familiar, deft-fingered hand stroke back and forth over his chest in response to his restless movement.

He took a breath and sighed, letting his head fall back on the pillows as he sagged. His heart, still thumping sickly in his chest, slowed, and he captured the hand on his chest, raising it to his face and pressing a kiss to lax knuckles. There was a pleased hum and a huff of breath across his skin before lips touched his chest.

“You’re sweet,” Barry muttered, barely awake.

“Tell no one,” Len replied immediately. Time and practice made sure that his tone was perfectly snide while conveying amused affection, but Barry still rubbed his cheek against Len’s shoulder before peering up at him.

“You okay?” he asked. Len looked down into the sincerest, most intimately concerned eyes he’d ever seen in his life and melted, nodding in answer to the question before pressing his lips to Barry’s.

He’d known from the start of this plan – the moment that he’d made the decision to woo Barry Allen – he’d known that there was a greater than even chance he would fall.

He’d never loved anyone apart from Mick and Lisa, except maybe his mother once upon a time. His father had made sure his heart was too black, his soul too corrupt for love in a conventional sense.

And then Barry.

Barry with his truth and justice.

Barry with his honest smile.

Barry with his pure heart and his sincere belief.

Barry who faltered but always got back up.

Barry who pushed him to be better – first as a thief, and then as a man, and _Star of Asia_ , but Snart was pretty sure that had been a pretty significant order of events.

Len had lost his chance to be truly good too early to be saved by Barry’s pure heart. He’d always be a criminal in one way or another. But he’d known he would fall in love with Barry Allen if he succeeded in wooing him. Had known from the moment that Barry professed to see good in him from behind prison glass that the walls of ice around his heart would chip and crack and melt away in the face of Barry’s persistence.

He thought it would take longer, but he could feel it – the way his heart beat a little faster the more he kissed Barry, their hands still joined on his chest, all trace of discomfort gone. The way his brain was already re-ordering things in his head to make space for Barry, right next to Lisa and Mick. The possessive instinct welling up inside him at the taste of Barry, the dark beating of his heart, the bone-deep thrum of _mine-mine-mine_. He shivered at the thought of what he might do to anyone or anything that ever threatened to harm Barry.

He knew what kind of a person he was.

He should warn Barry before it was too late.

Barry shifted his kisses along Len’s jaw to his neck, reverently pressing his lips to the renewed hickeys he found there.

Maybe his talk of possessive behavior could wait. A little. He was still a selfish bastard, after all.

“I gotta go,” Barry muttered, while giving no indication that he intended to stop kissing Len’s body. Len ran his fingers through Barry’s hair, drawing a sigh, and then lifted Barry’s hand to his mouth, sucking hard at the pulse point of his wrist. Barry sucked in a breath, lifting his head to watch Len look at him while sucking a bruise into his skin.

“Stay,” Len said, dragging his teeth over that spot. Barry groaned, planting that hand beside Len’s head and kissing him before resting their foreheads together.

“Unfair,” he chided. Len smirked. Barry sighed through his nose and made a face. “I gotta go to work,” he said. Len hummed, dragging his unoccupied hand up along Barry’s hip.

“You’re the _Flash_ ,” Len teased, drinking in Barry’s smile as his heart thumped. That smile was just for him. “You telling me you can’t be ready for work inside thirty seconds?” he asked.

“I have to go home and shower. Plus, my credentials are at the house. Captain Singh will not appreciate a walk of shame _and_ no credentials,” Barry said, even as he lowered his head to press sweet kisses to Len’s lips.

“I feel like I’m the only Captain you should care about,” Len told him, and Barry smiled.

“Romantically, you are,” he replied. Len’s heart gave another surge in his chest. “Financially, Singh pays my bills,” he added, pressing another, more firm and final kiss to Len’s lips before pushing himself up. “Not that I wouldn’t rather spend my day here, in bed, with you,” he said, trailing a hand over Len’s chest and biting his lip while giving Len his laziest bedroom eyes.

Len wanted to fuck him again.

But Barry spoiled it, shoulders sagging as he rolled his eyes.

“Can’t though. Gotta keep my day job so I can keep my night job,” he said, climbing over Len and off the bed. Len watched him dress – watched the way Barry kept looking at him with an obvious look of carnal regret. He smirked, sitting up and stretching. Barry stopped in the act of buckling his belt to stare at him.

“Unfair,” he said again, and Len smirked in response. Barry snorted, shaking his head with a smile and fixing his belt before walking over to stand between Len’s legs, framing Len’s face in his hands and ducking his head down. Len expected another gentle kiss, not the way that Barry devoured his mouth, tongue sweeping in like he owned the place, sliding against the roof of his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. Len’s fingers dug into Barry’s hips, and he blinked up at Barry stupidly for a moment when Barry pulled back, a thumb tracing back and forth over Len’s cheekbone.

“Now who’s being unfair?” Len croaked. Barry grinned brightly at him and giggled.

He was gone. He was lost. Don’t send a search party, he wasn’t coming back from this.

“I’m gonna leave you my number so you can bother me at work,” Barry said, arching an eyebrow. Len smirked, looking him over.

“Barry Allen, did you just imply that I should send dirty pictures to you while you are in a house of justice?” Len asked, delightedly scandalized. Barry shrugged.

“I thought that would appeal to the deviant in you,” he said.

“I’d rather _you_ be the deviant in me,” Len quipped instantly, and Barry groaned a laugh, but Len still had his hands on Barry’s hips, and he knew Barry’s indecision when he saw it. His heart started to beat a little faster with anticipation.

“I should go now, before I cave to your innuendoes,” Barry said, while making no move to leave Len’s grasp. Len decided to play dirty, leaning forward and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Barry’s chest, just where his ribcage ended, feeling a surge of triumph when a shudder wracked Barry’s body and his hips moved involuntarily closer to Len. It took the barest of implied pressure to pull Barry into his lap, dragging his tongue up Barry’s sternum to his neck. “hhhhnngh,” Barry groaned, hands shifting to Len’s shoulder and the back of his neck. Len nipped his shoulder and then lifted his head, looking into Barry’s blown eyes.

“Play hooky with me, Allen,” he said, before smirking. “Promise it’s just this once,” he lied, and Barry groaned, shaking his head.

“God, you’re gonna be a bad influence,” he said, even as the corner of his mouth tilted up. Len’s heart gave a thump. He loved it.

“The worst,” he promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I went back and wrote an epilogue because I'm incapable of just leaving things be


	8. Double Surprise?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last one for this entry, I promise.   
> Go back and read chapter 7, it's changed.

SURPRISE!

This isn’t actually a chapter

Lol

So, I have a couple things planned for this collection of stories, and I wanted to give you guys a preview and also ask a very important question

Preview first.

I will – at some point – write the following stories/vignettes:

The courtship of Mick and Caitlin, guest starring Len and Iris’ well-intentioned meddling/assistance

The Amnesty Brigade/Team Flash alliance

The conversation Len had with young artist Connor while Barry was standing down the cops outside The Gallery

Len presents Bivolo with a gift basket

Some ups and downs in the ColdFlash relationship.

And, possibly, the rehabilitation of Axel Walker

And now, for a very important question:

Shy Mick? Or Shy Caitlin?

Because I can see it both ways.

Mick is a pyromaniac who has killed a lot of people, and he once offered to set Caitlin on fire. It’s not hard to see him putting her on a pedestal in regards to their relative worth. I could definitely see him being insecure about the possibility of Caitlin wanting a lasting relationship with him, meanwhile, Caitlin is – at her core – a strong woman who knows what she wants.

On the flipside, I can also see Caitlin’s insecurities – not about what people would think of her, because ColdFlash, c’mon – but because Mick leads a dangerous life, and she’s already lost Ronnie. She still wants what could be with Mick, but she doesn’t want the possibility that she might lose it. Meanwhile, Mick’s opinion is that if his life is gonna be short, he’s gonna fill it with Caitlin.

So, let’s have a show of hands. And then after that, leave a comment. I can’t actually see you.

 


End file.
